Turnabout Crossover
by blckndwht44
Summary: Even when facing insurmountable odds, only one lawyer can take the most hopeless of cases and claim victory by turning it on its head. But what happens when defense attorney Phoenix Wright, and his paralegal Maya Fey, suddenly find themselves among mercenaries, superhumans, demons, gods, entities capable of destroying universes, and a gun-toting raccoon? The case of a lifetime.
1. Unfamiliar Ceiling

**Turnabout Crossover**

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><p><em>Phoenix Wright never believed in heroes. And because of that, he certainly didn't think himself to be one, despite his assistant's constant teasing on how he practically has superpowers with the way he turns hopeless cases around and wins them at all costs.<em>

_He was simply doing his job as a lawyer and as a lawyer, to him the law was the only way that justice could be rightfully served, and the guilty could be properly incarcerated for their crimes. To Phoenix, superheroes like the Steel Samurai only existed in television shows and comic books, and their way of crimefighting and justice-serving couldn't possibly work in the real world._

_Which is why he had the shock of his life one day when he woke up after a particularly bad case, in a room not his own, and in a world he doesn't know._

_So have you ever wondered what happens when a defense attorney, Phoenix Wright, and his paralegal, Maya Fey, suddenly find themselves amongst mercenaries, superhumans, demons, gods, universe-destroying entities and a gun-toting raccoon? The case of a lifetime, that's what._

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I do not own the characters depicted in this story. Respective Marvel Comics and Capcom characters belong to their respective companies.

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><p><strong>ACT I: WITH EYES WIDE OPEN<strong>

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><p><em>"Hey, so do you like it here?" he asked her.<em>

_The little girl sighed as she sat on the bed with the soft, blue blanket covering her. But she looked at him and she smiled at him, the kind of empty smile that people do when they don't want to disappoint. When they don't want to show sadness._

_She was sad, frustrated, and crying deep inside, but she kept on smiling. A little girl like her was trying to hide a kind of pain not even adults can bear. A little girl like her._

_"It's really nice. Thank you."_

_"Are… you sure?" he asked her. "You don't look happy."_

_"What? Silly, of course I'm happy."_

_"No, you're not," he reassured her, and she was quiet. "I know what you've been through. Bad days… happen. A bad day happened to me, too. I know what you feel right now but the thing is… we can make this work. You, me, just the two of us. We can make this work. Trust me."_

_She smiled at him, trying to persuade him that she was just okay. That there was nothing for him to worry about. He didn't buy it. He could see right through her fake smile. He's seen hundreds of them before, from people of different walks and ways of life._

_There was nothing sadder than seeing that kind of smile on a little girl._

_"Do you want to hear a story?"_

_She nodded, half-hearted._

_"Let me introduce myself again first."_

_And with a proud smile, he started:_

_"My name is Phoenix Wright._

_"Something happened to me not too long ago. Something you might not even believe is true. Sent to a world I didn't know, for a purpose I never would have ever believed possible, ever so slowly I came face-to-face with the reality that only by achieving this purpose would I ever even dream of getting back home. And if you had known me at the time, you would have doubted the very possibility that I could do it._

_"I know I did._

_"But the thing is, little by little, I came closer to realizing that the decisions I made and the battles I've fought… each and every one of them made me into someone who was in every way better than who I once was. They made me into the person that I am now. Someone who would be able to do what he once thought impossible. To face what he couldn't have before._

_"And this is the story of how I became that person._

_"Still, who am I to spoil the ending? Everyone has a story to tell, and this one is mine. How it began, how I got here, and how it'll all end, I'll tell you everything. This is my story."_

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Unfamiliar Ceiling<strong>

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><p><strong>He could feel his head ache as he groggily opened his eyes. There was a bad taste in his mouth, and whether it was from a particularly bad bottle of grape juice or the tinge of bitter defeat leaving his taste buds dry, he didn't know. All he knew was that as he stared at the ceiling above him, there was something completely wrong with it. It wasn't the ceiling he was familiar with. He rolled over to his side, but found no Maya noisily snoring beside him, stealing his blanket and pillows while he slept. Where was he? He sat up and scanned the room.<strong>

_Someone left the windows open, _thought Phoenix, as he checked the room. _There's no furniture in here, except for the bed I'm sitting on and two desks on each side of it._ He then opened the drawers of both desks and checked their contents. _Pfft, nothing inside._

He checked the clothes he was wearing. A white dress shirt, blue pants, and black socks kept him warm as cold December winds blew in from outside, where large, white clouds covered the sky in a white sheet, blocking out the heat of the morning sun. On one of the bedposts hung a blue suit that matched his pants along with a pink tie, while black leather shoes were stowed away neatly under the bed.

"Something tells me I'm not in my office anymore," spoke Phoenix aloud to no one in particular. He could feel that something was off, but he wasn't entirely certain what it was. Although as he stared at the unfamiliar ceiling above him, he suddenly realized how obvious what it was that felt so off. He was nowhere near Wright and Co. Law Offices.

_Where in the world am I?_

As he silently thought to himself, he didn't notice the door creak open slowly and quietly. A young woman, with light brown hair and eyes, took a look inside. Noticing the fully awakened attorney sitting idly on the bed, she greeted him in a cheerful fashion.

"Oh, you're awake," she remarked, entering the room. "Sorry, I didn't mean to barge in all of a sudden." She was carrying a tray that had what seemed to be a bowl of soup on it while a single, silver spoon sat neatly to the side.

About six inches more than five feet in height, she was a young woman of fairly light complexion, whose brown hair was tied into two ox-horns on both sides of her head. Strangely, or at least Phoenix thought it was strange, she was dressed in a blue qipao, a traditional Chinese dress, that had gold accents accentuating the curves and edges of the garment. Dark brown pantyhose adored her legs, and she wore a pair of white, knee-high boots. She also wore two spiked bracelets on her wrists, and had dark pink-colored eye shadow highlighting her eyes.

"Sorry for disturbing you," she apologized further.

Phoenix turned towards the voice and was surprised by the sight of its owner, much more when she suddenly put her left hand over his forehead and felt it. It was warm, she told him, but it wasn't enough to warrant as a fever, which according to her, he had earlier. Handing him the soup, she happily advised him to eat it before it gets cold, and Phoenix smiled back at her and eagerly accepted her offer.

"Here," she said, as she handed him the bowl. "You're lucky your fever has gone down now. We were seriously considering bringing you to the infirmary downstairs if it had gotten any worse." Her smile afterwards couldn't be any warmer.

_Food from a stranger in a strange place? I've been through weird mornings before but this definitely takes the cake._

Still, unhesitatingly, Phoenix took the bowl and mindfully tasted a spoonful of soup. To his surprise, he found it absolutely delicious. Although it might have had something to do with the fact that since he spends most of his money at noodle houses and burger stands, of which Maya is at fault, it's been a while since he's tasted homemade cooking.

_At least the food is good._

The utterly delectable sensation he felt throughout his taste buds was what finally led Phoenix to decide that this woman went against everything that he deemed hostile and deadly by this act of kindness. He then started lowering his guard and ate the soup more comfortably.

"How is it?" the woman asked him, as she sat down on the bed. Her smile was not fading in the slightest.

"It's pretty good," he answered, taking in another spoonful. It was really quite good, as Phoenix admits to himself.

"I'm glad you liked it," she told him, and she really looked like she was. Watching him eat, she continued to ask, "Are you feeling better now, Mr. Wright?"

Phoenix almost choked on the soup after hearing his name. He was famous now, something he begrudgingly admits, and yet he thought that there was something truly unholy about people knowing his name without him ever getting the chance to introduce himself properly. And especially with pretty girls like her, introducing himself is the only way to break the ice that Phoenix knows.

Well, there's that. He could also try talking about his hair, but no one ever pays attention to his hair. Except to remind him how incredibly spiky it is.

But he then thought that he really should have figured out that she would know it. He was apparently in her care after all, whoever she was and wherever _he_ was. Still, he asked her just the same for the sake formality. "How did you know my name?"

"Maya told me while we were playing chess yesterday," she answered. "She's downstairs in the living room."

_Maya, _thought Phoenix. _I never realized she knew how to play chess. And that… wait… what did she mean by 'yesterday'? How long have we been here? …And where is 'here', exactly?_

He needed to talk to Maya right away, because right now she was the only one he could count on to make sense of the situation he suddenly found himself in. He hurriedly finished the soup he was given, partly because it was really good, and mostly because he wanted to understand what the hell was happening at that moment.

_You know that there's something completely wrong going on when I start to depend on Maya in the sense-making department._

"If you're finished, I'll take you to Maya. She's downstairs playing video games," said the woman.

Phoenix looked at her from top to bottom as she took the bowl from his hands. She couldn't be an assassin. She doesn't even look like the type. And in Wright's head, he fully convinced himself that there really was no possibility that she was some sort of hired killer sent to get him. As if anyone would want to have him dead.

Of course, Phoenix was being too naïve. There was bound to be a handful of people who had a grudge against _the _Phoenix Wright, and there was bound to be a number of those who had the means and enough motivation to actually have _the _Phoenix Wright dead, either with a paid assassin, or with their own hands.

But he was right at least in the current scheme of things. She wasn't one of those people.

"Thanks a lot for this," said Phoenix. "It really was delicious. I just wished I knew your name so I could thank you properly."

The brown-eyed woman looked shocked, and her expression was that of someone who had the idea that they had disturbed the natural order of how things went on suddenly drill through her head.

"Oh, right, sorry," she remarked. Her eyes opened wide in realizing too late what she should have done in the first place. "I forgot to introduce myself, didn't I? Sorry. My name is Chun-Li. It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Wright."

She put out her hand and Phoenix shook it.

"Chun-Li... is that a first name or surname?" asked Phoenix in wonder.

"Yeah, it is," answered Chun-Li enthusiastically, in the manner of someone who didn't want to dwell on something any longer.

Phoenix was mildly surprised by the answer.

_Did she just dodge the question? I can't be sure if she's hiding something. I can't see any psyche-locks on her._

"It's nice to meet you, too, Miss Chun-Li," said Phoenix, shaking her hand. "The name is Phoenix Wright. Wright as in the flying brothers."

Chun-Li then turned around, carrying the tray and the empty bowl and spoon, and walked towards the door. Phoenix took the opportunity to take a better look of her, and it was only then that he had noticed how thick and muscular her legs were. Actually, thick is a serious understatement. They were positively _massive._

_Those things look like they could smash a car to pieces. If she ever was an assassin… I'd have absolutely zero chance of survival._

Turning the doorknob, she leaned to the side to look at him, and found the attorney breaking into a cold sweat. "Are you okay, Mr. Wright? Maya's just downstairs. Shall we go?"

"Oh," replied Phoenix. "Yeah, yeah, of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You're sweating bullets. Is something the matter?"

"What? No, nothing. Everything's fine," came the reply. It was followed by a rather pathetic laugh.

She smiled at him, and he found himself at ease.

"Well, you should put your clothes and shoes on first. I'll be waiting outside when you're ready," she told him, and she closed the door behind her.

Phoenix then turned towards the bedpost where his clothes were hung and popped open his collar.

_Easy, Phoenix. I know you should be careful and all, but try not to overdo it. Just relax and don't let your guard down._

Taking his tie, he slung it over his neck, but then hesitated. It suddenly came to him that he has completely forgotten how to put on a neck tie. Maya had always been the one to tie his on him, and thinking that it would take too long if he contemplated trying, he just stashed it in his coat pocket and put his coat on, followed by his shoes, the laces of which he fortunately remembers how to tie.

_Step one are the rabbit ears… then step two goes the loop-de-loop… then something else… then there, step four: profit. If tied shoe laces equaled profit._

He decided that he'd just ask Maya to do his neck tie for him later.

Opening the door, Phoenix found Chun-Li waiting for him by the stairs, and proceeded to follow her as they descended the metal steps of the spiral staircase. It creaked and rocked slowly at their every step. Chun-Li led the way, while Phoenix followed closely behind her, sneaking looks at the floors they passed in their descent. And occasionally towards Chun-Li herself, which didn't go unnoticed.

"So, is Maya your sister?" she asked him in a sing-song tune, in an attempt to make small talk. "I mean, you look like you two are related."

"Nah, she's actually kind of like my secretary," he answered back. "She assists me in my work."

"Oh, I see. I just assumed that you were," she said. "You two seem to be pretty close though regardless, I mean, from how she talks about you."

"We've been through a lot together," he replied, and she seemed impressed. "I can't possibly do my work without her insight, and she keeps me from getting bored with her upbeat attitude towards anything and everything. Although she can be quite a handful at times, and at her age, she still has the mental maturity of a twelve year-old. Not that I'm saying that that's a _bad _thing, I mean it's sorta cute. But still, in my line of work that could be seen as unprofessional."

"I happen to notice that, actually," she remarked, as she had spent the previous day with Maya. It mainly involved them playing a single game of chess throughout an entire afternoon. They eventually got bored.

The board and its pieces were left in the lobby of the residential wing of the building, and the game was left unfinished When Clint Barton and Hank Pym had passed by the game earlier that morning, both had noted that whoever was playing with the red pieces, they were only three moves from a win.

"On a side note, what is your work, if I may ask?" She was also wondering if she or Maya was playing red. She couldn't quite remember.

"I'm a defense attorney," he answered her, and quite proudly at that. He contemplated adding 'defender of justice' at the end to impress her, but decided against it. It was too cheesy for his liking anyway.

"Really? Then that would make us both defenders of the law," she said cheerfully. For the life of her, she really couldn't remember who was playing red.

"Hmm? Why is that?"

"Well, I may not look like it," explained Chun-Li, "but I'm actually part of the International Police."

_At least she knows she doesn't look like it. Not that I'm saying pretty girls can't be law enforcement, what I mean is…_

_Although, that doesn't explain the qipao. It's possible that she probably _is_ Chinese, being with Interpol and all, and taking her name into consideration... but with those big, brown, puppy dog eyes, I might seriously doubt it._

_And really, a Chinese woman wearing a qipao as casual clothing? This is the 21st century. Stereotypes like that don't even work anymore, especially not in this time and age. I thought globalization was making sure that everyone knows that not all Japanese are samurai and not all Britons have bad teeth._

_Unless the reason she's actually wearing it is because it's some form of cosplay. Well, there's nothing wrong with a grown woman cosplaying. But where in the world can someone wear a costume like it was some form of casual wear and not look like an idiot for doing it?_

_Am I in New York?_

Thoughts of how he was able to get from a city in the state on the east end of the country to the city in the state at the other end started flooding his mind. The most plausible of the ideas he could come up with was that he had sleepwalked all the way there. Yes, that was the only plausible idea he could come up with.

Considering the others involved teleportation and sleep-induced telekinetic flight capabilities, it was easy to see why. And it was easy to see just how much Maya's overactive imagination had influenced him these past few years.

Phoenix silently laughed at the absurdity of his ideas.

_Ugh. Did I hit my head last night? My brain isn't working as efficiently as I'd like it to. I should have slept earlier last night, but after what happened... Actually, who's to say I'm not asleep right now?_

"Really? Well, that's pretty awesome, Miss Chun-Li," complimented Phoenix. At the same time, he was seriously thinking if his sleepwalker theory was really that plausible.

_Or could the Mythbusters bust it in one segment? Actually, how are they even going to test that?_

"Why, thank you," answered Chun-Li, flattered.

Phoenix followed her until they reached the foot of the staircase. At that moment, all of a sudden the tone of her voice changed. It became more somber and serious just as they reached the end of their descent.

At the end of the staircase, the path branched off into two directions: one to their immediate left, and one right in front of them. From three doors down the hallway in front of them Phoenix could hear voices shouting.

"So... I guess you're probably wondering where you are and why you're here," asked the Interpol agent suddenly.

_When someone winds up in a room he doesn't know, with a person he's unfamiliar with, and for a reason that has yet to be disclosed to him, I think those would certainly be the first things that would pop into his mind._

"Well," started Phoenix, with a straight face, "I just hope I didn't wind up in some alternate universe in my sleep." Those science fiction stories he's been reading during his free time have started to tax on his imagination almost as much as Maya.

The shocked look on Chun-Li's face seemed to alleviate his tension somewhat.

_Well, now I know she can't take a joke. Heh, she probably thinks I'm crazy for saying something like that._

Turning off his imagination for the moment in order to block his more outrageous thoughts on the matter, he looked at her again, and noticed that her expression had turned into an uneasy smile.

"Well, I, uh, sorry then," she stuttered, laughing nervously. "I'm afraid I'll be disappointing you then, Mr. Wright."

_Huh? What did she say?_

Chun-Li pulled on her collar and cleared her throat. "Uh, anyway," she told him, pointing at the hallway in front of them, "just, ah, just walk down this hallway. You'll find that Maya's in the den three doors down." Then, pointing towards the hallway to their left. "I'll just go wash these in the kitchen."

_She's just going to leave me here?_

"Wait a minute, you haven't told me why I'm here yet," cried Phoenix, as Chun-Li started walking in the other direction. This was all very confusing to him. "Wait! Come on, **HOLD IT!"**

Chun-Li turned and looked back at him with a worrisome look on her face. "There's no need to shout, Mr. Wright," she told him. "Just go and find Maya," she continued, smiling awkwardly, "she'll tell you everything." Chun-Li then continued to walk to the end of the hallway, and turned right, completely disappearing from his view.

She was sweating bullets. Phoenix could see that.

"What was that all about? It's like… it's like there's something she doesn't want to tell me," said Phoenix out loud, dumbfounded. Then shaking his head, he turned towards the other hallway and said, "Alright, where to, again?"

Phoenix scanned the place.

_Okay, so right now I find myself in an otherwise empty hallway, _thought Phoenix to himself.

Walking towards the window behind the staircase, he continued, _I seem to be in some sort of high-rise establishment. A company building, perhaps? I'm about 30 stories from the ground, and judging by the vibe of things, it doesn't look like I'm in Los Angeles anymore. Where am I?_

Pulling himself from the windows, he then turned around and walked down the hall towards the room Chun-Li spoke off. _There seems to be a lot of paintings here. To an untrained critic like me, I'd say these are all pretty expensive -looking, but I can't be sure._

As he reached the door, Phoenix could hear several voices coming from the room, one of them very familiar to himself.

Peeking inside the room, he saw his partner sitting comfortably on a couch, while her eyes were fixed on the television screen mounted up high on the wall a few feet from her. She wasn't wearing her usual acolyte uniform, which was the regular outfit worn by the practitioners of the Kurain Channeling technique.

_Well, I'm glad that I found her ...And that at least now I know that my 'I-Must-Have-Sleepwalked-All-The-Way-To-New-York' theory isn't completely unfounded._

Beside her, Maya was sitting with two men who looked like they wouldn't look out of place in a convention, and the three of them were all attentively focused on the television screen. On closer inspection, Phoenix saw that they were actually playing video games. And that they were so engrossed in playing that they seemed to not even be remotely aware that Phoenix was at the door.

To her right was a man who was wearing a full-body outfit that had a red and black color scheme, complete with red gloves and boots. He was also wearing a mask that had two black ovals over his eyes, which completely concealed his face, although somehow he was still able to breathe, regardless.

On his belt hung several large, brown pouches, and the buckle of which resembled the likeness of his mask. A pair of handguns were stowed into holsters on his thighs, while two, rather long katanas were strapped perpendicularly on his back. Additionally, there was a rather large, sheathed knife strapped onto his left arm.

He might have been a ninja, but everyone knows that ninjas don't wear garishly bright colors for their outfits. And Phoenix wasn't quite sure if he could believe that the man had _real _guns and knives and swords on his person.

He should have seen the other man first, then.

To her left, Maya sat next to a rather handsome young man whose eyes were of a piercing, icy blue, and whose hair was as white as snow. He apparently wasn't wearing a shirt under the long, flowing, crimson coat that he had on, as Phoenix could observe.

He also wore black, leather pants, black, leather boots, and black, fingerless gloves, which were also, as it seemed, made out of leather. Two, large handguns were holstered on his belt, and beside him, leaning on the sofa's arm, was a very _huge _broadsword with a demonic looking hilt.

And by the looks of the sword, there was no way this man was some cosplayer wearing a costume. To put it simply, in the words that even lowliest of creatures could understand, he had a _real _freaking broadsword that could easily slice a man in half and dice his remains into minced meat.

Maya herself was dressed differently than usual, as Phoenix had already noticed. She was wearing a black Black Sabbath shirt, blue, short jeans, and the purple sandals that she always likes to wear. As her hair was still in a topknot, and the beads she always has on adored her neck and her wrists, Phoenix couldn't possibly mistake her for anyone else. Though this would be the first time he has seen her without her uniform.

Maya and the masked man both stared attentively at the screen, while each of them were furiously smashing away at the controllers in their hands, while the white-haired man sat to the side, nonchalantly eating pizza as he watched his two companions duke it out in virtual combat.

"Hey! Can't I block in the air?" cried Maya frantically as the masked man unceasingly pummeled her character to a pulp. The exasperation on her face as she tried to keep her character alive was evident.

"You can't," answered the white-haired man, "and you shouldn't even be jumping too much anyway. No one actually jumps in these games, except in some characters' special moves where they're part of the input. I've never seen anyone combo with a jump in these games before."

"I'll try," answered Maya meekly.

After a couple of minutes full of non-stop button mashings and controller smashings, their focused gazes turned into blank expressions, and their jaws all consecutively dropped. Maya looked back and forth between her controller and the television screen, as if trying to make sense of what had just happened.

"Fascinating," remarked the masked man as he scratched his chin. "I didn't even know you could get yourself killed that way. You just set up a new low, topknot."

"What... what just happened?" asked a perplexed Maya, as she tilted her head left and right while looking at the screen.

The white-haired man squinted his eyes, not because he couldn't see the screen clearly, but because it was a reflexive action done when trying to makes sense of something senseless, even if the action itself won't help in better understanding what the hell just happened. "Well, first Deadpool got a perfect on you, and secondly, this is the first time I've seen that sort of K.O. ever. This is definitely YouTube material."

"Way ahead of you!" announced the masked man, as he held a camcorder in his right hand which he had inexplicably procured from somewhere. "We're gonna be famous," he continued, as he pointed the camera at the television screen.

"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Maya, seemingly on the verge of tears.

"Hey, uh, on the bright side," spoke the white-haired man. "You get to be on the internet."

Maya's eyes glinted as she thought deeply about the societal ramifications being an internet sensation would pose upon her. But as she tells Phoenix over and over, there was no such thing as bad publicity, and who knows, if the video goes viral she might become an internet star. The possibilities were endless. At least, they were, in Maya's collective imagination.

Meanwhile, the white-haired man lamented the sudden lack of pizzas on the table. Taking the empty box with him, but not before leaving a thoughtful Maya with the last slice, the white-haired man started to walk towards the end of the den, where an open door led to another room. He disappeared as he entered it, leaving Maya and the masked man in the room on their lonesome.

"Mr. Dante!" cried Maya after the white-haired man, noticing his absence only after he left the room. She was holding a slice of pepperoni and cheese. She contemplated running after him, but the masked man stopped her as she stood up, telling her to look to her left as he restarted the game. Maya's surprise turned into a happy smile as she turned to see the man standing by the door.

"Nick!" shouted Maya as soon as he saw him. She then found herself running towards the spiky-haired attorney, who was but a moment earlier watching silently from the hallway. The young woman then jumped towards him, tackling him to the ground. "Nick! I'm so glad you're okay. You were _burning_ with fever this morning, did you know that? Are you feeling well now?"

_Maya, _thought Phoenix, _am I glad to see you. Although damn, you couldn't have made a much more painful welcome. I think I threw my back just now._

He then sat up on the floor as Maya moved from straddling him to kneeling beside him, while placing one hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry, Nick," she said, although her voice was not too terribly regretful. Her words sounded more like a silly pseudo-apology, for lack of a better word. At least that was how Maya would have called it. "I guess I got carried away there," she remarked, while laughing nervously.

"It's okay, really," reassured Phoenix, as he helped Maya stand up. Then suddenly he remembered something. "Actually, before you get excited I wanted to ask you something. _Where are we?"_

Maya stared at him, and seemed troubled. She bit her lower lip for a second, before turning back towards the room. There was an odd look in her eyes, and Phoenix wasn't sure what was causing her to be like this.

"Uh, well," she stuttered, as she wasn't really sure what to say, "it's not that easy to explain, Nick."

_Not easy to explain? What is? With all the random, crazy wamajama I've seen in my life, I'm pretty much whatever the opposite of a skeptic is. I'm sure there's nothing that can surprise me anymore at this point._

"Really now, Maya," spoke Phoenix, as he followed her into the room. "You know me. With everything that has happened in my life, in _our _lives, you can pretty much count on me to believe anything."

"Oh, is that so?" asked Maya, unconvinced. "Then what if I told you that we got sucked into this alternate universe where superheroes exist and a plot to destroy the world is at hand?"

Phoenix calmly walked up to her. He, like any sane man would, placed the back of his hand on her forehead and felt it. Maya retreated in surprise, taking a step back, and asked him what the matter was.

"And I thought I was the one with a fever," explained Phoenix. "Then again, you say crazy things all the time, so maybe this is just one of those instances when you try to sound like you want to, but utterly fail to, make sense."

"Nuh-uh, Nick," she cried. "This isn't one of those. Can't you tell I'm serious this time? I'm brimming with seriousness. This is my serious face right here."

Amusingly, her serious face was a cross between her "trying-not-to-laugh" and "not-making-this-up" faces. Needless to say, when combined, they were no more serious than any of other faces she makes.

_Gee, no, I can't. I mean really, an alternate universe? I guess next time she'll tell me that in this 'alternate universe' I'm a prosecutor, Edgeworth is a defense attorney, she's a popstar, and the Judge is a pro-wrestler. ...Wait, why is the judge a pro-wrestler?_

_And why does my mind keep going off into silly tangents?_

As Maya sat down on the couch, Phoenix took this time to scan the room.

_The room is fairly large and well-lit, and the walls are littered with decorations of all sorts._ Phoenix then proceeded to walk towards the windows, as Maya watched him. Leaning on the window sill, he continued with his observations.

_A flat-screen television set is mounted up high on the wall, while a small desk is set up beneath it. A video game console is sitting neatly on top of the desk, while a few feet from the screen is a rather huge, black, leather couch, which has a coffee table in front of it. An air-conditioning unit is mounted above the single window in the room, while to the left was a door that leads to another part of the building. A while ago, there were two men here playing a game with Maya. Right now, Maya is in the room with me, the white-haired has moved to another room, and..._

…_Now that I've mentioned it, where did that masked man go?_

As Phoenix thought to himself, he didn't notice the rather large arm that suddenly wrapped around his neck, completely taking him by surprise. From the corner of his eye, he saw the masked man come in from the window, apparently from the fire escape. He entered the room with Phoenix in a light headlock, with the masked man proceeding to greet him in the most absurd way imaginable.

"Glad to finally meet you, Nicky!" cried the masked man, dragging the hapless attorney from the window towards the door to their left. "Have you ever noticed how spiky your hair is?"

"What?"

"Although damn, I can't be the only one who can smell those chimichangas," he continued, seemingly oblivious to the man struggling to escape his grasp. "I know you're a grilled cheese sandwich kinda guy, but you have _got_ to try my chimichangas, they're heavenly. You know, without the dying part. But you'll probably feel like dying, but that won't be from the cyanide I may have accidentally put in them, it'll be from the Deadpooliciousness! Which, by the way, is my new word for awesomeness. And deliciousness."

_Is this guy for real?_

"To the kitchen, young padawan!" he shouted once more, dragging the lawyer through the open door into the next room, leaving Maya in the den. The young spirit channeler turned to wave at Phoenix, before leaning back on the couch and grabbing her controller from the desk.

"Hey! Who reset the game?" she cried.

* * *

><p><strong>A tall, white refrigerator stood prominently in the kitchen, and in front of it, the white-haired man from earlier was kneeling on one leg as he was taking a bite out of something he got from the fridge.<strong>

Beside the refrigerator was a standard oven and stove, and beside that was the kitchen counter, where a green-eyed, red-haired woman was happily chopping up vegetables. She was quite tall, and her rosy complexion complimented her blood red locks quite well. Dressed in green spandex, a golden sash was tied around her waist, while yellow gloves and boots completed her whole ensemble.

"Hey, Jean," called the white-haired man as he stood and closed the fridge door. He was eating what looked like a deep-fried burrito on a plate. "Did you see Peter by any chance?"

The red-haired woman turned to him and answered, "He was supposed to help me cook lunch, but his phone rang and he had to step out. By the looks of it, it was probably important. I'm guessing it was Tony who called him."

The two of them were then alerted to the sound of footsteps, and turning towards the door, they saw Deadpool with Phoenix in tow walking in.

The collective look on their faces seemed to say "Not again."

"Hey, Phoenix!" shouted the mercenary. "Hey, Phoenix! This here's Phoenix, too!"

The confused lawyer sheepishly looked up at the red-haired woman and waved. Smiling, she reached out her hand to him and they shook hands, as she introduced herself.

"Jean Grey," she said, as she held his hand. Her grip was dainty but firm, and as Phoenix tried to make sense of that description, he admitted to himself that there was no other way to describe it. Her personality could pretty much be defined the same way. "I'm glad you're finally awake, Mr. Wright. We were all very worried about you."

"Uh, thank you, Miss Grey," replied Phoenix with a smile.

_She seems nice. Although for some reason she's also wearing a costume. Wherever I am, this must be the norm or something here, for some obviously convoluted reason._

_Am I in a convention or something?_

As they exchanged greetings, Dante slowly approached Deadpool. With one hand clamped onto his shoulder firmly, the demon hunter went on to tell him, "Wade, put Mr. Wright down." With his mouth full, mind you, so the end result was more along the lines of "Waff, pugh meeshef wiefgh donn."

Turning to his companion, Deadpool's face contorted into abject horror and anguish as he saw the empty plate Dante held in his hand. Enraged, he let go of Phoenix, and the lawyer promptly fell face first onto the floor. The mercenary charged towards Dante, grabbing at the lapels of his coat and pulled the demon hunter's face to his own.

"_Why?" _cried the mercenary.

"What the?" exclaimed the demon hunter. "No way, you're finally going to do it, aren't you, pal… you're finally going to kiss me."

"_Why?" _cried the mercenary once more, ignoring his adversary's quips.

"Why what?" asked the demon hunter complacently, honestly unaware of what his companion was getting himself worked up on.

"You ate _my _chimichanga!" shouted the mercenary in an anguished wail.

Dante was unfazed.

"So sorry," apologized Dante, who didn't seem remorseful at any rate, considering that he was smiling rather mockingly. "Didn't see your name on it so I didn't know it was yours. If it's worth anything, I'd like to say that it was terrifically delicious."

He followed it up with mockingly licking his fingers one by one, once he realized what his compatriot was getting so angry about.

The grief-stricken mercenary pushed his enemy to the side, and with one, quick motion, pulled his sidearms from their holsters and pointed them straight at the demon hunter. The enmity in his voice was noticeable. "Feeling lucky, punk?"

Without missing a beat, the white-haired man was able to whip out his weapons as well, and in the course of milliseconds, had pointed them at the masked man's face before both could react. Smiling mockingly at his opponent, he countered, "Go ahead, make my day." By the looks of it, this wasn't the first time that these two had engaged in such a face-off.

_Did I miss a Clint Eastwood marathon on television last night? _Phoenix thought to himself.

The lawyer grumbled as he rolled to his side, and faced the ceiling. With two men right beside him drawing guns on each other, Phoenix was by all means understandably worried that he might be seriously hurt if they ever decide to open fire, despite how comical they seemed to be. To his wonder, Jean had resumed chopping up vegetables, seemingly blissfully unaware of the madmen wielding firearms to her right.

"Uh, Miss Grey," started Phoenix. As he was about to continue his question, Jean had cut him off.

"Don't worry, Mr. Wright," she told him dismissively, preemptively answering his question. It was as if she could read his mind. "They don't usually get past pointing their guns at each other, so there's no need to worry."

_I didn't even have to ask. Is she a… psychic? …No, Phoenix, try and stay within the realm of reality. This must have happened before and she's probably speaking from experience._

…_I can't even imagine what life would be like with people like these two if this kind of thing is considered normal here._

As Phoenix contemplated standing up, getting back to the living room to meet up with Maya and get away from the current craziness he was in, from the door came in the pretty Chinese woman from before. She was carrying a bag of groceries in one hand and had her nose buried in a book she held with the other. Needless to say, she was unaware of what was taking place around her, and the moment she had stepped inside, she tripped over the spiky-haired attorney lying on the floor.

"Jean, here are the grocer—_gah!"_

She landed face first onto Phoenix, butting heads with him and knocking the lawyer out cold. The bag of groceries she was carrying had spilled onto the floor, while the book she was reading has slid over the kitchen tiles, ending up in the middle of the scattered mess of vegetables and canned goods.

As Chun-Li nursed her slightly bruised forehead, she opened her eyes to see an unconscious Phoenix lying down on the floor. Mumbling something to herself in Chinese, she pulled on the lawyer by the lapels of his coat and started shaking him.

"Mr. Wright! Wake up, Mr. Wright!" she cried.

"Oh dear," remarked Jean, as she knelt down to pick up the grocery items scattered on the floor. "You better take Mr. Wright to the living room," she advised Chun-Li, who quickly grabbed the book she was reading from the pile and bit down on it.

She then stood up, the book secured tightly in her mouth, and pulled on the lawyer's coat, dragging him towards the living room. Jean was left picking up the boxes of cereal and cans of tuna scattered on the floor, while Deadpool and Dante stood motionlessly a few feet from her, seemingly oblivious to what just happened.

As Chun-Li dragged the attorney outside towards the living room, Maya, who had been playing video games at the moment, quickly noticed her and came to her aid. They pulled the hapless attorney together towards the middle of the room and propped him up on the sofa. Lightly slapping his cheeks repeatedly in an awkwardly comedic fashion, Maya tried to wake up the lawyer from his accidental knockout.

A few minutes passed, and she took to grabbing his shoulders and shaking him vigorously back and forth. It would seem like this was the favored tactic in trying to snap people out of unconsciousness in this part of the multiverse.

"Come on, Nick. Wake up," spoke Maya, as she rocked the spiky-haired attorney left to right. Behind her, Chun-Li was apologizing profusely for the accident that she deemed was all her fault.

"I'm really sorry, Maya," she told her, and unlike Dante towards Deadpool, she meant every word of what she said. "I wasn't looking where I was going, and he was on the floor for some reason, and... and I just—"

"It's okay, Chun. Really. He's been through worst, you know," assured Maya that Chun-Li had done nothing bad.

_Ugh. What happened? _thought Phoenix.

"Hey, Nick... Nick, you awake yet?" he could hear Maya's voice whispering in his ear softly. Much to his chagrin, his head ached at a level that would make it difficult for him to even open his eyes.

_Leave me alone. Head hurts. Can't think. Leave me alone to rest._

"Do you think we should bop him one on the head again?" suggested Maya, and Chun-Li recoiled in surprise. How hitting someone on the head again when they're unconscious can be helpful was beyond her capacity to understand Maya's crooked way of thinking. Still, she humored her on her idea nonetheless.

"Uh, Maya, how exactly is that going to help wake up Mr. Wright?" asked Chun-Li, knowing the answer would be something that would prove ultimately unhelpful.

"Well," explained Maya in a matter-of-factly manner, "since bopping him on the forehead caused him to go out cold, I therefore hypothesize that bopping him on the back of the head would cause him to wake up."

It was proven already by everyone that Maya is quite a polarizing individual. Not in the sense of whether you like her or not: Maya was bubbly melting pot of cute likability, and no one of the heroes would disagree.

She's polarizing only, as they have observed, when it comes to handling situations that would be taxing on her need to make decisions. One moment she would be suggesting all sorts of weird, quirky solutions to the most mundane of problems, and the next moment she'd be able to make up insightful, helpful ideas that not only make sense, but work well.

Chun-Li knew that, and whether this was one of the former or the latter wasn't clear to her, despite being with Maya since the day before. So she resigned herself to agree with her companion on her illogical solution, in the slightest chance that it could work.

"Well, if you say so," said Chun-Li, "then let's do it."

_Wait, Miss Chun-Li, what are you saying?_

"Alright, Chun!" said Maya happily, as she raised her hand and prepared give Phoenix a smack on the noggin.

_Maya, don't you even dare. Miss Chun-Li, don't give in, please._

Pain was imminent. There was no point in trying to avoid it. Or at least, so he thought.

To Wright's surprise Maya wasn't as strong as he was afraid she would be. The painful smack on the back of the head that he was getting ready for turned out to be the weakest, most laughably pathetic slap he has ever been dealt with. Pearl hits harder than her, he mentally noted. Still, he couldn't help but yelp out a meek "Ow!" purely by reflex.

"Well, wow, it actually worked," remarked Chun-Li, falsely concluding this to be one of Maya's more insightful moments.

To her left though, Maya was shaking her hand to ward off the pain that she brought on herself. It would seem that she had hurt herself more than she had hurt Phoenix.

"Nick. Hair. Too spiky."

Phoenix threw back his head, and he couldn't help but mentally note what his affairs were like this particularly cold December morning. Mostly, about how he didn't like it.

_To wake up after a bad day is one thing. To wake up after a bad day in a place you're unfamiliar with, with people you don't know, while still experiencing the general craziness of my _normal _life and multiplying it by 10 might just turn out to be much, much worse._

As he opened his eyes, he found himself staring back at a pair of brown ones, looking intently into his. His face was just a few inches from hers.

…_But I guess waking up like this once in a while isn't that bad._

Chun-Li sat down next to Phoenix and Maya, and gave the lawyer her sincerest apology, which he instantly brushed off. "It's okay," said Phoenix, "really it's okay, Miss Chun-Li. You don't need to apologize or anything. It's nothing."

"Yeah, it happens all the time with Nick," explained Maya. "He's so used to it that getting abused on a regular basis is second nature to him!"

Phoenix recoiled at the statement, and Chun-Li simply kept quiet, noting the awkward atmosphere Maya had instantly created with her comment.

For a few seconds they just sat there quietly, motionless. Phoenix was whistling, while Chun-Li had engaged herself in a game of finger twiddling. Maya, between the two, has kept to herself, wondering if she had said anything wrong.

All of a sudden another masked figure came into the room, revealing himself as he ran inside the den and jumped over the sofa. He then latched onto the ceiling, much to Wright's utter amazement, and crawled towards the kitchen door, disappearing as he went inside.

"Who was that?" asked Phoenix, slack-jawed.

"That was Spider-Man," said Chun-Li, which really didn't help much in the information department. Besides letting Phoenix muse over the name 'Spider-Man' and how funny it sounded.

"He sounds like a superhero," remarked Phoenix.

Which was something that wasn't completely unfounded, as Chun-Li told him:

"He is."

"He's... a superhero?" asked Phoenix. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Oh yeah," answered Chun-Li, giggling. "He's a super freak."

"A super freak?"

_"He's super freakayyy,"_ she sang, as her arms did the appropriate dance gestures.

Phoenix and Maya stared at her worriedly, and only then did she realize that the joke was completely lost on them. Trying to save face, she feigned coughing, but realized that she still owed them an explanation. She started to speak, while flustered.

She bit her lower lip, and said, "Heh. Sorry, it was a little something I learned from Deadpool." She then turned to look up as she tried to hide how red her face was turning. "On another note," she remarked, "I've never realized how high the ceiling in this room was."

* * *

><p><strong>As Spider-Man entered the kitchen from the ceiling, he noticed two things: one was that he forgot he was supposed to help Jean cook lunch, and she was already on the verge of finishing a large, heaping pot of beef stew, the recipe of which they had found in a cook book within the confines of Tony Stark's massive library.<strong>

The second thing was that he had only been gone for about ten minutes, yet for some indiscernible reason, Deadpool and Dante were already at each other's throats again for perhaps the third or fourth time that day.

_I really need to put a leash on these two, _thought the arachnid.

Lowering himself on a webline attached to the ceiling, the webslinger slowly descended upon the two hotheads as they unwaveringly stared each other down like ravening wolves. The two mercenaries were so immersed in each other that despite being a metahuman and a demonspawn who both have honed senses that are superhuman in level, they failed to notice the wallcrawler as he hovered a few inches above their heads.

As he came into arm's reach of the two, he stealthily placed his hands behind their heads, and in one, swift movement smacked their foreheads together. Understandably, this elicited a shocked yelp of pain from both men, and only then did they realize that they've been in each others' faces for way too long than what was socially acceptable.

"What the hell was that about?" complained the masked mercenary. As he looked up to see who his adversary was, he recoiled in fear and disgust at the sight, screaming, "Look out! It's a giant spider! It's gonna suck out your brain juices through a bendy straw!"

"Shut it, Wade," warned Dante, before looking up at the arachnid. The displeased look on his face publicly showed his disdain for the webslinger getting the drop on him. "You didn't need to hit me that hard, webhead."

"You guys have been at each other's throats since day one," said Spider-Man. "We're a team, and if we're gonna stay a team, you two need to learn to not screw yourselves over every little argument you have."

"A giant spider!" continued Deadpool, dropping to his knees and clutching his head in a nervous fashion. Screaming towards the ceiling, he continued to cry out, "Oh, say it ain't so! The humanity of it all! Is there no salvation from the reign of the mutant spiders?"

"Geez, shut it, Wade," cried Spider-Man, as he landed on the kitchen floor. "Jeez. I can't believe they haven't come up with a cure for your kind yet."

"You got a problem with mutants?" asked Deadpool, pointing an accusing finger towards the webhead.

"I meant Canadians," corrected Spider-Man. "And you're not a mutant."

"What? Of course, I am!"

"You're not," seconded the white-haired man, as he folded his arms over his chest.

"What? Come on, this is insane," remarked Deadpool. Then turning towards Jean, who had just finished making breakfast, he cried, "Hey, Jeannie, help me out here. Us X-Men gotta stick out for each other, am I right or am I right?"

"You're not a mutant," answered Jean, without looking at her companions. "And you're not an X-Man either."

If there was one thing Deadpool was good at, it was talking. Non-stop. Maybe until his opponent either gives up or commits suicide, but perhaps not even then. So both Spider-Man and Dante were awestricken by how dumbfounded Deadpool looked after Jean shot him down. There was nothing particularly cringe-worthy about what she said, and if perhaps either of the other two had said those exact same words, it wouldn't have left as much impact as when Jean said it. They didn't know why. But the important thing to them was that it was the end of that conversation.

The thing about Deadpool was that every sudden pause he makes elicits twenty minutes (on average) of non-stop, inane chatter afterwards, before he remembers to breathe again. Coupled with the fact that a lot of his pauses only last from about one-half to three and a half seconds, it would be a very nightmarish experience for that to happen.

Fearing the retaliating insanity that would make its way out the mercenary's mouth, Spider-Man took advantage of the moment and quickly blurted out the reason why he was there, if only to stop Deadpool from reviving the conversation of whether he was a mutant, or an X-Man, or both, or neither.

"Tony called," started Spider-Man, just in the nick of time.

Deadpool was already past his shocked, I-can't-believe-I-just-shut-up phase.

"It's urgent. A new one just turned up in downtown Manhattan, and has X and Zero on his tail. He's hostile, and since we don't know on whose side he's on, our orders are to track him down and find out who he is.

"…Although actually, I think we already know who he is," said Spider-Man finally, looking in Dante's direction.

"What are you looking at me for?" questioned the demon hunter.

"The guy they're after has white hair, wears a blue coat, and has a very long sword on his person, " explained Spider-Man. "And from the few glimpses that they've had of him, they said he looks like you, but has his hair slicked backwards. Obviously, I'm willing to bet my web shooters that you know him."

"…Vergil?" muttered Dante to himself, subconsciously.

"Friend of yours?" asked Spider-Man.

"Hardly," answered Dante, and Spider-Man gave him a doubtful look. "He's my brother."

"Like a real brother, a stepbrother, or a not-blood-related-but-you-totally-treat-as-one brother?" asked the arachnid. "Or maybe a clone? 'Cause if he's a clone, I might sit this one out."

_Since I might not be able to stop myself from beating him senseless._

"No, not a clone. He's my real brother," answered Dante, while wondering what the wallcrawler meant by the last one. "It's... kinda difficult to explain. How about we catch him first then ask questions later?"

"Sounds like a plan," agreed Spider-Man, who was already on his way out of the kitchen.

"Awright, I finally get to kill someone!" shouted the masked mercenary in glee, as he passed Spider-Man by the door. He ran out of the room giddier than a school girl on prom night.

"I doubt he'll be able to kill him," remarked Dante, as he followed Deadpool out the door. He then wordlessly left the kitchen and proceeded outside to the den.

As Spider-Man was about to leave, he contemplated to himself. He really needed to apologize to Jean for leaving her to cook on her lonesome. Gathering up the courage to say sorry, he turned to her as he faced the door, and started, "Uh, hey Jean, I—"

But the telepath had beat him to it. "It's okay, really. Just go do your job," she told him. And with a nod of approval, the wallcrawler proceeded out of the door, and followed his two companions outside.

* * *

><p><strong>Phoenix has always been kept in the dark about a lot of things, but he has never yet felt so clueless in his life until he was dumped with the uneasiness he was feeling at that moment. There was something weird going on, and to a guy who has jumped to conclusions in every decision he has made in every waking moment of his life, he knew the repercussions of doing exactly that in that moment.<strong>

So when the masked mercenary came running through the room with guns akimbo, followed by the white-haired man in the red coat, who did about twenty (Phoenix had a knack for exaggeration) backflips while retrieving his claymore as it leaned on the couch, and ran outside like they were escaping the plague, Phoenix deemed it necessary that he would not jump to conclusions.

Mostly, said conclusions ended with him in bed, waking up and realizing that this was all some weird dream that he would tell Maya during breakfast, and the two of them would laugh it off as the silliest dream anyone has ever had.

Unfortunately for Phoenix, it wasn't a dream. He was firmly in reality, and reality was firmly trying to screw him over.

"Peter, what's going on?" asked Chun-Li in a concerned tone of voice, and Phoenix was snapped out of his pondering.

"Something urgent," spoke Spider-Man.

As the hero stepped towards the middle of the room, Phoenix recognized him as the ceiling-crawling guy from earlier. He was wearing red and blue tights, possibly made out of spandex, which had a distinct web motif all over the red areas of the outfit. There was a black spider logo on his chest, and a much larger red one on his back. His mask covered the entirety of his face, hiding all of his features and muffling his voice, although Phoenix noticed that he spoke with a distinct New York accent, probably belonging to someone who was a native of Queens.

"Another one turned up like Mr. Wright, probably only a short time after he did," continued the arachnid, while acknowledging Phoenix and Maya's presence. "Dante knows him, which kinds of muddles things up, since he's pretty hostile and we have to take him down. Chun, take care of Mr. Wright and Maya while we're gone."

"Don't worry. Of course, I will," said Chun-Li, perking up. Spider-Man nodded understandably. "Good luck, Petey."

The wallcrawler then proceeded towards the single window in the room, and opened it. Glancing back one last time, he then nonchalantly jumped out of the window like it was the most normal thing in the world. Phoenix turned to his two companions, but saw that they weren't even remotely surprised, much less be so in the manner that Phoenix was.

_Wow. A guy just jumped out of a window like it was nothing and no one but me bats an eye. Now I know I'm dreaming._

Just then, the kitchen door creaked open, and a red-headed woman holding a ladle peeked out, smiling.

"Who wants brunch?" asked Jean aloud. "I made beef stew."

Maya's eyes then lit up like a Christmas tree as she heard the word 'brunch' being mentioned. "Brunch, Nick! It's the joys of lunch and breakfast combined!" she shouted, and she quickly dashed towards the kitchen, following Jean inside. Chun-Li, who was surprised at Maya's enthusiasm even when she shouldn't have been, eventually stood up as well and followed the spirit channeler's lead.

"Would you care to join us, Mr. Wright?" asked Chun-Li, holding out a hand towards Phoenix. The lawyer then accepted her offer eagerly.

"Sure," he told her, but his mind was elsewhere.

It was like the last bus to sanity just left and he was all alone in a deserted terminal.

**End of Chapter 1**


	2. Along Came a Spider

**Turnabout Crossover**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2: Along Came a Spider<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Satisfying himself with the breathtakingly spectacular view of the New York City skyline, Spider-Man zipped through the air, swinging beside buildings and jumping over billboards, as he made his way to downtown Manhattan. Large, plump cumulus clouds started to form up in the sky, signifying the coming of rain. It was the middle of December, and uncharacteristically snow had yet to fall during that time, although the fact that this wasn't Earth as they knew it might have had a hand in the change in weather.<strong>

Being a native New Yorker, Spidey was quite amazed by how the city was pretty much an exact copy of the one he knew back home, and that there wasn't a building out of place in the urban jungle that was the NYC. As he swung through the cloudy New York skies, he spotted a construction site where a high-rise apartment was being built. Seizing the moment to review his task, he landed on the left side of the building, where the wall had been partially finished. Crawling up towards one of the top floors, he found himself in an empty room where not a soul was in sight.

"I better wait here," he spoke aloud. "Man, I should have told those guys to take a cab. They're gonna take forever to get here."

_Jeez. They really know how to keep a guy waiting._

The last time they had taken a cab was an experience they rather would not discuss with him, Spider-Man remembered. He didn't know why. But why they would rather take Deadpool's moped over the alternative was something he didn't get either, especially after that one time:

"_Nice scooter, freak!" _shouted some random passerby eating hotdogs by the sidewalk, as Deadpool slipped by on his ride, on his way to a chimicherrychanga sale at Taco Bell.

"_It's a motorbike! It's 100% manly!" _shouted Deadpool back.

At that moment, the wallcrawler's phone rang, and he quickly snatched the device from his belt and answered it.

"Hello, your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man here," he answered.

"_Spider-Man, this is Zero speaking, over," _spoke the person from the other line.

"Oh, hey! I was starting to wonder when you'd call," spoke Spider-Man in an upbeat tone. "So what's the situation? Where's our guy?"

"_Unfortunately, we lost him. He managed to slip by me and X as his speed was much greater than ours, as averse I am to admitting," _spoke Zero. His voice audibly showed disappointment. _"We were able to follow him closely until he entered a narrow alley. As we moved in inside it, he was gone."_

"Where did you last see him?"

"_I'm tracking your location at the moment," _he responded, as a few taps and clicks could be heard from his end._ "We're about six blocks west from your current location, and if the direction he was heading in has not changed, he is most likely in your immediate vicinity."_

"Acknowledged," answered Spider-Man. "I'll be on the alert."

He then walked towards the edge of the platform, and looked over to the side.

"I'm at a construction site in front of the D.I.Y. shop Chun and Jeannie went to last week. The top floor is a good vantage point to keep a lookout from; I can see about a fifteen block radius from my current position. How about we regroup here?"

"_Affirmative," _spoke the person on the other line. _"We'll be there in approximately three minutes. Wait for—"_

Suddenly, an intense pain came knocking onto the back of Spider-Man's head.

_Spider-sense tingling, _he thought, _but from where?_

He could sense the feeling of a metal blade disturbing the air behind him. In the split-second that followed, Spider-Man narrowly jumped out of the way, as a sword came down, slicing his phone in half. The discarded remnants of his mobile fell on the floor; bits and pieces scattered in different directions.

"I was using that," said Spider-Man, with eyes half-closed. He looked around him as he crouched closer to the floor, anticipating his opponent's next move. "Just in case you don't know, slicing phones in half is a pretty rude gesture here in the Big Apple. And so is sneaking up on people, but I'll let that one slide, since I do it all the time."

"I heard you speaking with the people who were after me," spoke a voice. "Honestly, I believe this is no way to treat a newcomer, but I guess all humans are the same, wherever they're from."

_And _I_ honestly doubt X and Zero are what you'd call human. Apparently our friend here can't tell the difference._

"You attacked us first," cried Spider-Man, looking left and right. Sensing movement coming from several directions, he could tell right away that his opponent was fast. _Really _fast_._ "We still don't know if you're friend or foe, but if you come with me, maybe we can sort this issue out over a cup of coffee, or would you prefer tea? Although I might settle for a frappe instead, myself. Not much of a tea and crumpets kinda guy. Deal?"

"Quite brave of you to make small talk in the face of a threat. Or perhaps foolish? I could never tell the difference with you humans."

"That wasn't small talk. I'm giving you a chance to resolve this without fighting, because I wouldn't want to waste the next two minutes of my time kicking your ass."

"Big words," said the voice. "A pity you wouldn't be able to follow-up on that."

"Wanna bet?" asked Spider-Man, tracking his opponent's movements. "Come out so I can stop tracking you down by how your breath stinks."

"It seems you are as foolhardy and flippant as my brother," came the reply. "Since you'll be losing to me, I guess you'll be able to share that quality with him as well."

"Your name is Vergil, isn't it? What's your connection with Dante? He says you're brothers, but from the way he said your name, you two didn't seem to be too close."

"Since you know of my brother," replied the voice, "then it would seem that he has disappeared into this strange world as well?"

The shadow of a large crane was perched on top of the building, obstructing the light coming from the sun. It covered his opponent in a blanket of darkness. But hidden as he was, he wasn't safe from detection. Spider-Man's spider-sense warned him of movement pinpointed as coming from his far left.

_You're fast. I guess I'll just have to be faster._

The attacker lunged forward from the side, stabbing the air with his sword as Spider-Man crossed cleanly to his right. His assailant continued relentlessly, stabbing at him with his sword left and right, while Spider-Man continued to dodge unceasingly in both directions.

"Do you need help with your aim? 'Cause I know a guy who can fire arrows _really _well," said the webslinger nonchalantly, as he jumped further back to avoid a crosscut from his assailant. "I mean, if you slashed at me with the Buster Sword you still couldn't hope to hit me."

His opponent then sliced vertically straight downwards, producing a dark purple sphere of sword slashes, which the wallcrawler only narrowly avoided. Seeing an opening in his opponent's offensive as he raises his sword for another attack, Spider-Man then lunged forward with a kick, which his opponent casually avoids by dodging his head to the right.

Following it up with an uppercut, his opponent then rolled smoothly to the right, then continued to lunge forward towards Spider-Man with a horizontal slash. The wall-crawler did a front flip over his opponent as his attacker dashed just a few inches under him, then landed safely on all fours, sliding backwards towards the edge of the building.

"Dude, I think we need to devise a turn-based system of attack," started Spider-Man, as he managed to cling to the flooring right before he slipped over one of the unfinished sides of the building. "Because you're turning out to be more stab-happy than this one guy I know, and he's got three knives on each hand."

Somewhere in Tokyo, a short, fairly muscular man accidentally sneezes into his can of beer.

"Are you okay, Logan?" spoke his companion in Japanese, another fairly brawny individual who was wearing a ripped and old-looking gi, along with a dark red headband tied around his forehead. "Are you catching a cold? We could always turn the heater on, if the temperature is too much."

The hairy man shrugged.

"It's nothing, kid, probably just a fluke," he replied in the language, as he downed the can of beer on the table. "My metabolism is stronger than a normal human's, I told you that already. There's no way I'm getting a cold, bub. And besides, this is our last day of tracking, so don't get all soft on me. We'll be leaving for New York in a few hours." As he explained, he turned towards the kitchen door to his right, and growled in his natural English, "Laura, aren't those snacks ready yet?"

Back in New York, Spider-Man was continuously being slashed at left and right by an opponent whose speed was in such excess that he could barely even see him.

_Dammit. I can't fight back if he's going to keep this up. I need to blindside him somehow if I'm going to beat him._

As his opponent lunged forward once more, his blade in front of him, Spider-Man charged forward at the same time, seemingly on his way to taking the weapon head on. An assured grin appeared on his opponent's face.

_This little trick is gonna wipe that smug smile off of your face._

With the tip of the blade only a mere inch from the wallcrawler's head, Spider-Man was able to roll his body to the side like a blur with the exceptional agility that only a person with his advanced reflexes would be able to pull off. His opponent's sword hovered slightly above his left shoulder, completely missing him by mere millimeters.

"How did you—?"whispered his opponent, in the split-second that followed shortly afterward. In the moment it took for him to utter those words, the webslinger's fist was already within his defenses, mere inches below his adversary's chin.

_If you liked that little maneuver then you're gonna love this._

His punch connects to the underside of his opponent's chin, hitting his jaw with the force of a ten-wheeler truck, sending his opponent staggering backwards. Before he could do a follow-up however, his opponent was able to catch himself at the last second, narrowly avoiding a wild haymaker from the arachnid. The man jumped backwards and backed into a dark side of the room, holding his jaw with his right hand.

_Jeez. It seems this guy can take a beating. That uppercut didn't even faze him, even when I aimed it at such a vulnerable spot. I guess I shouldn't expect less from someone of Dante's level._

"That was sneaky, insect," complimented his opponent. "I'm starting to get mildly amused right now."

"Hey! Are you gonna hide _every _time I get the upper hand? Huh, Vergil?" taunted the wallcrawler, as he resumed his primal stance.

Spider-Man watched as the man slowly stepped into the light, holding his sword inside his scabbard, which the arachnid never saw him sheathe.

_Yeesh. Did he even have it out? _he thought to himself.

The man wore a long, blue leather coat over a black doublet, black pants, and brown leather boots. His hair was white, and was slicked backwards. His eyes looked amused, but were cold and uncaring, and he looked calm and collected, instead of fierce and menacing.

_He looks like Dante… I mean, more than how brothers would normally resemble each other. So they're twins? _thought Spider-Man.

"Insect... you surprise me with your speed," spoke Vergil, as he slowly walked forward. "No one has ever escaped my Judgment Cut in quick succession."

"I'm an arachnid, technically speaking," said Spider-Man, keeping close to the ground. "Subphylum Chelicerata, phylum Anthropoda, you know? Insects are a different class altogether. But don't worry, you get points for trying. The teacher doesn't forget the kids who try."

_Damn. I should have been a kindergarten teacher instead. High school kids are such a pain._

As they lunged towards each other once more, Spider-Man sensed a disturbance in the surroundings, and quickly drew back. The white-haired man drew closer, unsheathing his sword as he dashed towards the retreating arachnid. Then all of a sudden, out of relatively nowhere, Deadpool teleported between the two combatants, right in the middle of Vergil's attack. The results were gory, to say the least. What else would you expect?

"BAMF!" shouted the merc as he materialized out of thin air. "Hey, what I miss—_aaaghh!"_

The white-haired man continued to lunge forward, and at one slash of his sword, he sliced Deadpool's left arm clean off. By the look of mild surprise on his face, Vergil didn't seem to anticipate Deadpool's coming. The three of them stared at Deadpool's severed arm as it laid on the floor for several seconds, twitching, as Deadpool's left shoulder bled like a fountain. Not that fountains bleed, but nevermind.

_Thank God for a healing factor, _thought Spider-Man, as he noticed the crimson comedian's underreaction to what most normal humans, and some alien lifeforms, would consider a major injury.

_But doesn't that hurt like hell?_

"Okay... awkwaaaarrd," was all that came out of Deadpool's mouth as he stared at his severed arm, its fingers twitching violently on the floor. "You know," he explained to the two people around him, "when the sudden overload to all my senses stops and my ability to feel pain comes back, I'll be screaming like a _giiiiiii—aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"_

With annoyance evident on his face, the white-haired man dashed forward and kicked Deadpool off the edge of the building as he was in the process of picking up his severed limb. The mercenary continued to scream as he fell from a height of thirty-seven stories, his voice a piercing reminder to the eardrum that even nigh-invulnerable mutates know that pain equals bad.

_Actually, I'm not sure if he's screaming because he's feeling the pain of having his arm sliced off, or because of the fact that falling from this height would hurt even more._

_"Curses! Foiled agaaaiiin!"_ continued to shout the red-masked mercenary as he neared the bottom.

"Never a dull moment with Deadpool around," remarked Spider-Man as he watched him fall off the edge. He averted his eyes as the mercenary neared the bottom. The sight would be less than pretty, and that would be understating it.

"Now," said the white-haired man, as he drew his sword, "where were we, arachnid?" He pointed his sword in the wallcrawler's general direction, urging him to continue their battle.

"We were in the middle of a Biology discussion, I think," quipped Spider-Man, as he took the first move and quickly dashed towards his opponent.

The wallcrawler delivered a sweep and knocked the white-haired man to the ground, all the while ducking down to avoid the blue coated man swinging his scabbard sideways. Following it up quickly with an axe kick, Spider-Man proceeded to send his foot straight down on his adversary's cranium. Unfortunately for him, his opponent rolled sideways at the last minute, and was able to leap to his feet.

_You're mine! _thought the arachnid, as he dashed towards his opponent once more. He clenched his fist as he proceeded to throw a straight punch at his opponent's face.

Seeing this, Vergil countered with a punch of his own, and threw a body shot aimed at his opponent's chest. Spider-Man hit him squarely in the jaw, while the white-haired man landed one on him squarely in the stomach. The two of them stood there unflinchingly, glaring at each other, before leaping backwards.

Spider-Man clutched at his gut. "Ugh. That was strong one," he remarked.

"You aren't so bad yourself," replied the white-haired man, wiping the small trickle of blood from his mouth. "Ready to give up, insect?"

"Uh, arachnid," corrected Spider-Man once more. "And no. Never."

"Hmph. Figures," spoke Vergil, grinning, but with a look of utmost seriousness in his eyes. "Now I'm motivated."

"Same here," said Spider-Man, returning to his primal stance. "Seeing what you're capable of means I don't have to hold back as much."

* * *

><p><strong>The dining hall, as Phoenix found out, was <strong>_**huge**_**. Three Victorian-looking crystal chandeliers hung up on the ceiling above the table, giving a sense of formality and elegance to an already luxurious-looking place. The table that they were sitting at, which according to Jean is made of fine oak bonded with a strong metal alloy, looked as if it could easily seat at least 30 people, 15 on either side. At one end of the table sat Phoenix and Maya, and sat opposed to them on the other side were Chun-Li and Jean. Between them, a large bowl that was half full of beef stew, another bowl filled with salad, and a pitcher of iced tea, made for an excellent brunch.**

"Wow," exclaimed Maya as she downed her third bowl in a row. The way she ate, like a happy seal at a fish buffet (for there was really no other way of describing it), made Phoenix conscious of their companions. Maya wasn't one for proper table etiquette, but it seemed her vigor in eating managed to put a smile on Jean's face.

"Miss Grey, you're cooking is simply _superb!" _she mumbled with her mouth full, but her words were clear and understandable, nonetheless. "I give you and your cooking a perfect 10! No, wait… an 11!"

"I'm glad you liked it," said Jean, smiling at the compliment as she brought a glass of iced tea to her lips.

"I don't know about you," added Phoenix, "but personally, this is the best meal I've had in a while."

_Although the fact that I've been eating nothing but fast food burgers and fries, and noodle house noodles might have added to that assessment. Not that I'm complaining. I mean, I personally know someone who has it a whole lot worse than I do._

"It's really amazing," continued Phoenix. "What is it, anyway? Some kind of well-kept family recipe, perhaps?"

"No, not really," explained Jean. "Actually, I just happened to be flipping through some cook books in the library when came across this recipe. It was from some really old-looking British cook book, if I remember correctly."

"Wow, didn't know they made beef stew."

They continued to stay silent for a while after that, as Phoenix tried to comprehend the new level of weirdness he'll be living in for the time being. Chun-Li had explained to him everything. Or at least, everything she claims she knows about the situation, and he was having a really hard time digesting all of it.

_It's hard being an attorney whose thoughts are firmly grounded on reality. When someone hits you with the idea that you're in some alternate universe, you become so lost that you wouldn't know how to react._

That's how Phoenix felt at the moment. He felt like the whole world suddenly dropped him off in Crazyville and left him there while it proceeded on its way to a city that made sense.

"So, do you think you're up to speed on what's happening, Mr. Wright? " said Chun-Li after a while of silence. She was shuffling her fork back and forth over a piece of broccoli in her salad bowl that she simply refused to eat. Perhaps because salads don't usually contain broccoli. It was something she had to tell Jean later.

"I understand how hard it would be for you to try to take all of this in," she continued, "but what I've told you is the truth. I wish someone more qualified to explain this to you was available, but we're a little short on people right now, so I'm all you've got."

_So far, _thought Phoenix, _let me see if I'm able to process all of this. A big, purple, cosmic entity called Galactus is on its way to destroy Earth, which isn't Earth as I know it, but is actually an amalgamation of several Earths across several alternate universes and dimensions._

_The universe which this Earth thrives in is itself a result of this fusion of dimensions and universes, making this universe a "merged universe" of sorts, containing properties of every universe in existence. And because of some rift in space-time, the specific circumstances surrounding which are being researched as we speak, Maya and I were sent here to this amalgamation of universes, _not by accident,_ mind you, but for a purpose._

_We were _chosen _or something, to be part of a team that would turn all of reality back to normal._

"Yeah," said Phoenix, "I think I am."

"Are you sure?" asked Chun-Li. "Because you don't _look_ like you do."

"Well, yeah," agreed Phoenix. "I suppose I don't. But you really can't blame me, can you? I mean, to start with, how would you people even _know _all of this? All this… this world merger issue that you're trying to make me believe. Do you know what it sounds like? It sounds like a bad comic book plot. How can entire worlds and entire _universes_ merge aspects of themselves together and create some… some sort of fusion of reality?"

"Simple," answered Chun-Li as she crossed her arms over her chest. "It's because this has happened before. This is the third time, actually. The third cycle."

"_Cycle?" _asked Phoenix, perplexed. "Are you trying to say this thing happens in some sort of pattern? That it repeats?"

"That's what we assume," answered Chun-Li. "The thing is, Mr. Wright, we weren't able to fully unlock the secrets of the world merger the first two times it happened because we were too busy trying defeat the threats we were facing at the time. That, coupled with the fact that we didn't have the resources and the right people to even begin research at the time, made it impossible for us to understand what had happened. We were like how you are now, in a way. Only a little less panicky."

"And you're saying now you do have these resources and people?" asked Phoenix. "Then where are these people? Maybe they can better explain the whole situation to me than you can."

Chun-Li cleared her throat.

"Well," started Chun-Li, and she started to count off on her fingers, "Dr. Strange has been staying inside his _Sanctum Sanctorum_ for over three months now, trying to commune with the higher beings about more specific details on the world merger. Mr. Stark has been researching about all the differences and similarities between the known universes and this world merger to figure out if there's a pattern to the events changed, and whether there is a hidden meaning to them. Thor has been gone for seven months trying to see if there's anything he can find out about it in all of the Nine Realms. And Nova has been gone for four and a half months ever since he decided to infiltrate Galactus' ship to search its databases, and maybe procure the Ultimate Nullifier, just in case we would need to drive Galactus back if he ever decides on taking his meal."

_Did she just make some of that up?_

Finishing her first bowl, Jean decided to cut in on the argument before it got hostile.

"Please understand, Mr. Wright," spoke Jean, "that we're trying to do the best we can in trying to deal with the situation. I know what you're feeling right now. You're feeling confused, and angry, and frustrated, and that's okay."

Jean then took a deep breath, and her expression became serious for a moment.

"I know this all seems nonsensical to you, but if you take the time to understand everything that's been explained to you thus far, all of it will be crystal clear. There are a lot of things at stake here. All you can do for now is calm down, relax and trust us."

Phoenix looked dumbfounded for a moment, before letting out a huge sigh and slumping in his chair.

"Look, I'm… I'm sorry."

Phoenix looked at the two women in front of him with his big, blue, sad, puppy dog eyes and apologized to them repeatedly. "It's just that… it's just that I've been under a lot of stress lately and… this whole ordeal… it doesn't make sense and it doesn't feel right. It makes me uncomfortable just thinking about it."

"It's okay, Mr. Wright," sighed Chun-Li, before grinning happily. "I'm sorry, too, for acting like that. I felt the same way you did when this first happened. You'll come to understand everything, I promise."

"Thanks. But… there's something else…"

"Hmm? What is it?"

"The part where you said me and Maya were chosen for this," said Phoenix. "That has me worried. I'm just a defense attorney, and Maya is just my spirit channeling secretary. We don't know anything about fighting cosmic-level threats or saving the Earth. There has to be a mistake."

"There are no mistakes, Mr. Wright," spoke Jean.

"Yep," seconded Chun-Li. "I mean, when we first saw you, and when we found Maya a few hours earlier when you both turned up through the gateway, we weren't sure what to make of you. You didn't seem like you knew how to fight, you didn't look like you had any powers, and you didn't have some sort of weapon or mecha with you. But the fact that you're not of this world and that you turned up here just like everyone else proves that there is no mistaking that you're one of us."

Wright's face fell flat at the explanation. There was a part that he didn't seem to comprehend more than others.

"Uh, how _exactly_ did we turn up here?"

* * *

><p><strong>Spider-Man and the white-haired assailant clashed once more. Blow by blow, they exchanged increasingly more violent punches and kicks as their battle waged on. As the arachnid threw another punch, Vergil was able to counter with one of his own, and they both hit each other squarely on their stomachs, sending both careening in opposite directions.<strong>

Vergil sheathed his sword as he slid over to the edge of the room.

"Hmph. I actually felt that," remarked the white-haired man.

Meanwhile, the arachnid was able to latch onto the floor on the other side of the room, preventing himself from crashing into a concrete wall.

"There's more where that came from, grandpa," came the reply.

"Grandpa?" asked an astonished Vergil. "…Does my hair color really inspire the image of a man possessing overwhelming age?"

Before they were able to continue their skirmish however, a voice quite familiar to the both of them was heard coming from outside the building. Vergil quickly moved over to the shadows with his sword in hand when he heard it, while Spider-Man moved closer to the edge of the room and looked over the side.

_Jeez. Took them long enough to get here, _thought the arachnid.

"Hey, webhead!" shouted Dante as he ran up the finished side of the building, carrying the merc with the mouth by the collar of his outfit. Deadpool himself was blissfully unaware of his surroundings, as he was busy reattaching his severed limb. As he drew closer, the demon hunter then yelled out, "Catch!"

Dante then threw Deadpool up several feet in the air into the room that Spider-Man and Vergil were in. The masked mercenary landed squarely on his feet, seemingly still oblivious to what was happening around him, as he was occupied with reattaching his arm. Dante himself jumped upwards and landed smoothly on the floorboards, with the sword latched onto his back hitting the floor with the sound of tempered, demonic steel.

"A little to the left," whispered Deadpool to himself, while adjusting the attachment of his arm and shoulder socket, "no wait, I should hear a pop right about now, no, that's not right... what the hell? It can't be backwards... wait, which way should my thumb be facing?"

Meanwhile, Dante and Vergil caught each other's glare almost at once, and for a moment the world seemed to revolve around them as their gazes were menacingly fixed on one another. After several moments had passed, it was Dante who started to grin mockingly, an example which was followed by his brother.

"So it really was you," he said happily, raising his hands in front of him. "What a touching reunion. Right, brother?"

"Sorry I'm late for the party," replied the other, in an equally sarcastic state, albeit more serious in tone and composure compared to his twin.

"Don't worry about it. Had I known you were coming, I would have made preparations for the bash," reassured Dante, as he paced the floor.

"What the hell is this?" remarked Deadpool. "Shakespeare in the Park?"

"We _are _in New York," added Spider-Man, standing beside him.

"Yeah, well," continued Deadpool, "Central Park's a few ways back. These two better hurry up if they're trying to get into the opening act. Say, you ever read _1984?"_

"George Orwell?" asked the arachnid. "Yeah. Scared the crap out of me. Why?"

"I was thinking of writing a fanfic about it, y'know," answered the merc. "One where Winston and Julia turn out to have not actually been broken by the Party and decide to just screw with it all and kick some Inner Party ass and lead a revolution. It's gonna be awesome, with guns and rockets and dinosaurs. _And _it's gonna have a proper _happy _ending."

Spider-Man was exasperated at the idea. "You do realize that that kinda defeats the whole point of the story, right?"

"So what? It's my story and it's gonna have a happy ending. With explosions and stuff blowing up."

As the two continued to argue, the sound of one clearing his throat suddenly reverberated throughout the room.

"Are you two quite finished?" asked Vergil.

The two masked men simply nodded.

"So," said Vergil, looking around as if he was completely ignoring what had happened, "this is the world you've been hiding in?"

"I heard they're doing _Titus Andronicus _tonight at the park," continued Deadpool. "Although I would have personally preferred _A Midsummer Night's Dream, _since I feel like watching a good comedy at the moment, but the damn bastards at the production said they won't be having it 'til next week."

"Seriously, I never realized you were this cultured," exclaimed Spider-Man, in a tone of voice that could insufficiently be described as the kind kids have when their parents tell them that Santa Claus and the tooth fairy aren't real. In Spider-Man's case though, the reaction stopped at the stage of denial and disbelief and stayed there.

"I wasn't hiding," replied Dante, completely ignoring his companions' side comments. "There's a war right now, brother. Something bigger than you and me is happening at the moment, and as much as I'm itching to finish what we've started, it looks like you're gonna have to wait in line."

"What are you talking about?"

"We're in the middle of a world merger," intruded Spider-Man on the conversation. He figured that if someone was going to explain this whole convoluted mess of events, the nearest science geek was the only one who can make it the least bit understandable. "An unknown event caused several universes and dimensions to combine into this unholy mixture of realities, creating the existential plane we're, well …existing on right now. And whoever or whatever caused that event also caused a rift in space-time which is what sent you to this place."

"Is that so?" asked the blue-coated man. "Then you're implying this whole ordeal is an accident?"

"Not exactly," answered Spider-Man. "I don't trust you, so I'm not going into the trouble of explaining the specifics. All you need to know is that there are _no_ accidents. You're here for a reason, and that's something I'm dead set on finding out."

Vergil started to pace the floor, as the three heroes kept their eyes trained on him, analyzing his every move. The man seemed troubled, like he was thinking deeply about the situation.

Then he spoke aloud.

"You're saying that some sort of war is happening," responded Vergil in a half-hearted manner, a short while later. "And if you're speaking the truth, I presume that you're wondering whether I'll be taking part in this war, and on which side I'll be on. The truth is, I know nothing of what you're saying, nor do I care." He sounded whimsical for a moment, as there was something on his mind. Then only after another short moment had passed did a smile escape from his lips, and he continued, "My only concern is that you spoke of a _whoever _or a _whatever _that caused these events to unfold, and is presumably what caused my coming to this realm."

Spider-Man's eyes widened in disbelief. "What are you trying to say?"

"You're implying that stronger forces are at work," spoke the blue-coated man further. "Forces that are capable of merging whole universes together at a whim. To be able to harness even a fraction of that power…"

"A lot of crazies here, today," whispered Deadpool to himself, as he update his Facebook status on his laptop. "Oh, wow, Morrigan update her profile picture… hubba, hubba. I can't believe these pictures don't get flagged!"

"Wait," cried Spider-Man, unable to believe what he was hearing. "You're not seriously thinking—"

"—of harnessing this power?" asked Vergil. "Insect, as my brother can attest, I believe that might controls _everything. _All I seek is power, and if an entity with such an obscene amount of power exists, I shall defeat it and claim its power for my own."

"Wait! Are you even listening to me?" shouted the wallcrawler. "Hello?"

"Farewell, insect," said Vergil. "The next time we cross paths, I will not be so merciful as to let you live. Same goes to you, Dante."

In the blink of an eye, he crossed the whole length of the room in a single dash, completely bypassing Spider-Man and Deadpool. Reappearing at the end of an unfinished side of the room that overlooked the sidewalk below, he ran one hand through his hair, before letting himself fall over the edge. By the time Spider-Man and Deadpool got to the spot where he was one second later, Vergil had already disappeared.

"Crazies. C-R-A-Z-I-E-S everywhere," intoned Deadpool.

"You're one to talk," remarked Spider-Man, sensing the hard irony in Deadpool's words. Turning away from the edge, he pulled an extra phone from one of Deadpool's many pockets and pouches and started punching numbers.

"What? I'm crazy _awesome," _came the rebuttal from Deadpool. "That guy was crazy _crazy. _With a side order of crazy _old. _I mean, seriously, what's with the hair?"

Meanwhile, Dante was completely motionless as he stood in the middle of the room. Something was seriously troubling him.

"You okay, Dante?" asked Spider-Man, as he held the phone next to his ear.

"Yeah, don't worry about me," spoke the demon hunter. He then looked towards Spider-Man, and noticing the phone in his hand, asked, "Who're you calling by the way?"

"I'm calling Zero to tell him that we just encountered your brother," said Spider-Man. "If we act now, we can scan the area before the trail he left behind disapppears and track him down."

Dante seemed to hesitate, but his mouth started to move on its own as he mumbled something incoherently. It was too soft a whisper to even be remotely audible.

"What was that?" asked Spider-Man.

Dante repeated himself, a little louder this time.

"He's dead."

"What?"

Dante's voice started to trail off. "Vergil. He's… he's _dead..."_

A resounding _"What?" _seemed to be the most logical response to an illogical statement. There were so few ways to make three words have as little sense as possible, but to Spider-Man's dismay, Dante was able to pull it off spectacularly. "What are you _saying?_ We just saw him, didn't we? I even _fought_ him."

"And they call _me _a lunatic," whispered Deadpool to himself, as he checked his Twitter page. "Ooh, Morrigan just tweeted that she's going to take a bath in an hour… uh, hey guys, is there any chance we can get back by 11? I've got some, uh, _research _to do, apparently."

"I _know_ what I saw," cried Dante, trying exceptionally hard to explain himself. "But Vergil… he's… the last time I saw him was… Nelo Angelo…"

Spider-Man's whole expression changed as he tried to comprehend what his teammate was telling him, but to no avail. This was a whole new level of weirdness. Rifts in space-time, alternate universes, cosmic beings… those he could believe. But people coming back from the dead?

_Well, for starters, there's Jean, _thought the wallcrawler. _Then there's Colossus. I'm pretty sure Professor Xavier has died at least once. And Magneto has died more than once. Same goes to Logan. Then there's Jean again. Is this a mutant thing? No, wait, Cap died during Civil War. Bucky died, too, some time ago. Doom pretty much dies all the time, but it always turns out to be a Doombot so I guess he doesn't count. Same goes to Deadpool, since you never really know if he's dead. And I know there was a time when Hawkeye died. And Wasp, too. Johnny seemed to have died, but it turned out he was just trapped in the Negative Zone and somehow gained the ability to command the Annihilation Wave. And let's not forget Osborn coming back after getting impaled by his glider. And of course, there's me. Twice. Then Jean, again._

"Could you… could you try making sense?" asked the arachnid, after a while.

"That's the problem," said Dante. "I'm trying to, but with the way he spoke… the way he acted... tch, I'm not sure what to think of anymore. If I could only tell you everything… I'm… I'm not even sure if that was really him."

* * *

><p>"<strong>So, this is what you guys mostly do on your days off?" asked Phoenix, as he sat on the sofa with Chun-Li, while they watched television. The Interpol agent has devoted the rest of her day to welcoming Phoenix to the new world he'll be living in, and took the time to explain everything she's authorized to tell him about how this whole ordeal works, at least until Tony Stark, a.k.a. The Invincible Iron Man, takes over.<strong>

"Nah. Mostly, me and the guys just play video games or watch television until morning," replied Chun-Li. "That is to say, I don't usually get days off. The most vacation time I get is on weeknights, and I spend most of those nights hanging out with the guys. Work at Interpol has me busy a few days a week, and the rest of those days I spend on various tasks Mr. Stark gives me and my team. Like right now, I've been personally assigned to look after you and Maya until Mr. Stark gets back."

"Wow. That sounds tough," remarked Phoenix. "I usually only get worked up when I work on a case, and those only come every few months or so. I'm guessing this 'Mr. Stark' can tell me more about what I need to know."

"Yep. He makes it his personal obligations to brief crossovers, or should that be crossover-ers?" continued Chun-Li, although she was inclined to pause for a moment as she searched for the right term to use. "Uh, anyway, he makes it a big deal to be the one who personally briefs the people who cross over, since he thinks all information should come directly from him to ensure that guys like you understand the situation flawlessly."

"Is that so?" questioned Phoenix. "Then why aren't I with him right now, being briefed?"

"Mr. Stark is a busy man, Mr. Wright," replied Chun-Li. "This whole building is his company, and aside from the trouble of managing it and all, he still needs to find the time to manage us on missions and operations. Sure, Cap acts as leader, but since he prefers going into action himself most of the time, Mr. Stark gets stuck managing thirty people as mission control. A boring job, to be honest."

_This Mr. Stark… it seems that Miss Chun-Li looks up to him. Heh. From what I can pick up, he's a genius who is the CEO of his own company, which effectively makes him a billionaire. He also seems to be a philanthropist of sorts, and by this woman's own admission, he's also a compulsive playboy and a charismatic person overall. Apparently, that wasn't enough, so he decided to add "superhero" to that list. Honestly, there are too many reasons to like the guy just from hearing her talk about him._

"So you're all divided into teams here?" asked Phoenix after a while.

"Yeah. We interact better that way, and are easier to manage," came the answer. "I met Tronnie during the second cycle, but we've only recently been teammates. It doesn't actually help that she wasn't exactly on our side when this whole ordeal started to begin with. But I know Tronnie's a good girl deep down. I've never once thought of her as having sided with the enemy."

Behind them, Maya sat on the chair of a green, robot-like vehicle that was spherical in shape. It sported a cannon as one of its arms, and a claw was attached to the other. A girl a few inches shorter than Maya stood beside it, pointing out the mecha's interface settings and controls, instructing her on how to use it.

"This lever controls movement speed, this one puts Gustaff in forward and reverse, and the wheel lets him turn while in 'Vehicle Mode'. This switch lets him change into 'Mecha Mode' to unlock separate features, but I'll tell you about those some other time," she explained as simply as possible, capping off the lecture with "Any questions?"

"Ooh, what does this button do?" asked Maya curiously. She immediately pressed down on a shiny, red button which caught her attention, without waiting for an answer. The button set off Gustaff's flamethrower, in its warm, blazing splendor. Luckily for both of them, Tron was able to turn it off in the last minute, keeping the other two people in the room from knowing the accidental attempt arson that was narrowly avoided just then.

"Let's not do that again, shall we?" remarked Tron Bonne, and Maya simply clapped her hands together and apologized.

Meanwhile, Phoenix continued to question Chun-Li on the world merger, extracting every bit of useful information he could from the Interpol agent. Chun-Li, no stranger to this kind of behavior herself, answered the questions as simple and as easy to understand as she could.

"Let's see," muttered Chun-Li to herself. "How do I explain it in a manner that's easy to understand?"

Realizing the futility of that option, as she was no quantum physics major, and that she herself doesn't really fully understand the principles behind the world merger, she opted for the best possible solution: to explain it in her own way, adding a bit of scientific jargon here and there to spice up the conversation.

It wasn't a perfect plan, but it would suffice to answer Wright's questions for now until someone like Mr. Stark or Mr. Banner could tag in for her. And besides, it wasn't like Phoenix would be able to nitpick some of the more blatantly straw grasping aspects of her explanation.

"Remember what I said about the rift in space-time? Well, those rifts open holes in reality that somehow find their way into different universes and the like, and it's those holes that turn into passageways through which we reach this merged universe."

"But you said that there were no mistakes, no accidents," spoke Phoenix. "How can you be so sure? I mean, that those passageways don't just randomly suck people in. It's not impossible, isn't it?"

"Firstly, I'm glad to hear that you're somehow already able to accept the fact that you're in an alternate universe, not in your own," remarked the Interpol agent. "Secondly, to answer your question, well… I've been through this ordeal three times already. And not just me either: Peter, Mr. Stark, Captain America, Ryu; uh, we've been through something like this before with a lot of others. Together. Which is why we're trying to find out more about the ordeal now that we're on the third cycle. I mean, surely you really don't think what happened to us are accidents and coincidences. Right, Mr. Wright?"

_Tch. She's got me there. If she's telling the truth, then I agree that something like this happening to a lot of people repeatedly is the last thing you'd call an accident. Still, it's pretty early for her to assume that I'm already accepting all of this at face value. I still need to keep my guard up, after all. Until I meet Mr. Stark, and get a good, solid understanding of everything, I'm keeping my head up and on the alert, in case this is all just one, big lie._

"Dr. Strange has a theory, but until he comes back from the _Sanctum Sanctorum, _we won't be sure if it's true," added Chun-Li a while later.

"What is the theory about?" asked Phoenix.

"Well, ever heard of _Götterdämmerung?"_

"Uh, gesundheit?"

Chun-Li stared at him, a bit confused. "No, I mean the last part of _Der Ring de Nibelungen."_

"Uh, I don't understand."

"'_The Ring of Nibelungen', _Richard Wagner's epic?"

"Nope."

"Also known as the Ring Cycle? It's pretty famous."

"Nope. Never heard of it."

"It was parodied in a Bugs Bunny short," cried Chun-Li, obviously grasping at straws at the moment with how she's going to explain the whole thing. She was quite surprised at how this part of the conversation would be her 'grasping-at-straws moment'. "The one where Bugs Bunny rides down on a plump horse dressed as a valkyrie, and when Elmer Fudd found out, he went all '_Kill the wabbit! Kill the wabbit!' _on him? Don't tell me you don't know _that _one."

"Oh," spoke Phoenix, his eyebrows crossed. "I won't tell you then."

"Ugh," sighed Chun-Li. "Uh, anyway, let's just say that Dr. Strange thinks that this whole ordeal is cyclical in manner, and that it has something to do with the fate of the universe, leaving it at that." Chun-Li then proceeded to pick up the remote control stashed on top the coffee table in front of them, and turned on the flat-screen television set mounted up high on the wall. "I'm going to have to sit you through a Looney Tunes marathon one of these days, Mr. Wright."

_I should get out more. These references she keeps on making don't really—wait. Wait a minute._

"What did you say?" asked Phoenix in surprise.

"Looney Tunes," came the reply. "What, you guys don't have Looney Tunes in your world? What kind of sick, dark, twisted dimension do you come from? Geez. No wonder you're a lawyer."

"No! What I meant was… wait, _what?"_

Chun-Li, in realization of what came out of her mouth, smiled sheepishly and meekly apologized. "Sorry. I… well, you can't blame me. Remember the three guys from earlier? You start hanging out with them long enough, and their personalities start to rub off on you. Anyway, what were we talking about?"

"What you said earlier. A specific part of it, actually," responded Phoenix, with the seriousness in his voice all but overtaking every other emotion. "This whole ordeal… you said that this has something to do with… the fate of the_universe?"_

As Chun-Li was channel surfing, she suddenly came across a news channel where a blurry video was being shown. The footage showed a dark, decrepit scenery devoid of light for a few seconds, and then footsteps could be heard in the background a short while afterwards. The film turns to static at one point, but then all of a sudden it shows a large, hulking monstrosity in front of the camera.

The being's face was disfigured and full of stitches, one of which trails over one of its eyes. It wore a long, black trench coat, and seemed to have been holding a large, weapon in one hand, which sort of resembled an RPG launcher. It was then shown slowly walking towards the camera, raising its hand and afterwards shooting out some sort of whip-like appendage towards it, before the feed ends in static. The scene then switched to the news anchor sitting at his desk, holding a stack of paper.

"_There have been reports of an unknown creature being sighted at the warehouse clusters found near the Hudson River. The video presented was footage by an unknown submitter, and according to the letter sent along with the video copy, it was spotted by the video taker last night at about 10:00 p.m. within the complex itself. Citizens are advised to stay away from the area while authorities are on their way to investigate._

"_The police have informed us that they have no idea what the creature is, although they are quick to tell the public that this might probably be just an elaborate prank. The warehouses by the Hudson have been closed off for years and are generally devoid of people, but to reassure the public that no such creature exists, the New York Police Department are willing to hold an investigation of the vicinity this afternoon. That is all. We now return you to your regularly scheduled program."_

_That was odd. I wonder what the hell that thing was, _thought Phoenix, but before he let his mind wonder off, he shook his head and reminded himself of what was more important at the moment.

"Anyway, Miss Chun-Li, about my question," spoke Phoenix after a short pause.

"Do you want to go out for some ice cream, Mr. Wright?" she suddenly asked, with the question seemingly coming out of nowhere. There was a sudden change in her voice that caught Phoenix off-guard. Before he knew it, he was already following her outside the door.

"But Miss Chun-Li," continued Phoenix as he followed her lead, "about my question…"

"I'll tell you over ice cream, Mr. Wright," she reassured him. "And don't worry, I'm buying."

Strange as it was, he couldn't help but keep all other questions that he had to himself. There was something bothering him with the way she suddenly changed expressions and tone, going from upbeat to serious in mere seconds. Could it have been because of that video?

_One question at a time, Phoenix, _he told himself. _One question at a time. Still, something isn't right. I feel like I missed something._

Looking back at the room they left, to his surprise he found it completely deserted. Not a soul in sight.

"That's weird," mumbled Phoenix to himself. "Where did Maya go?"

**End of Chapter 2**


	3. The Die is Cast

**Turnabout Crossover**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3: The Die is Cast<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>As he brought the chocolate fudge sundae and vanilla caramel sundae to their table, Phoenix couldn't help but think how uneasy he should be feeling at the moment. Away from home, in a strange world seemingly like his own, but different in so many, <strong>_**many**_** ways. And yet, he didn't feel alienated amongst the obviously not so normal people he's met, much to his confusion. Perhaps, he thought, it could be that this world didn't really seem much different from his aesthetically, and that deep inside, he still felt that he was right at home.**

And honestly, remembering what happened to him back in his real world always makes him cringe. Once and for all, he would like to forget about that whole mess and move on, but he can't. Especially not now, in the situation that he was in. Phoenix has always been a fighter, but as a lawyer he fought with words, not with his fists. But this time, not only was he being told that his law degree had no bearing on the war he was, to his abject horror, going to partake in, but that this time the stakes that were on the line were higher than he could have ever imagined within the realm of possibility. Whole universes were on the line. _Whole universes. _If those two words weren't enough to convey the sense of anguish he felt at the moment, he didn't know what did.

_Whole universes, _he repeated in his head. _Whole universes are on the line. Could it be really true? Is she serious? What kind of trouble have I gotten myself into? Maya… she probably knew all of this already, before I did. But Maya is Maya. I don't think she can even fathom what all of this would actually mean. Most likely, she'll be thrilled at the chance of becoming some sort of superhero._

"Mr. Wright?" spoke Chun-Li, snapping Phoenix out of his inner monologue. He didn't notice that he was staring absentmindedly outside the window. He thought that he was actually clutching his hair with his hands while looking down on the table, in the way he always poses when he thinks he's about to lose a case. He wished this _were_ just a case, but it isn't.

He could afford losing a case. He couldn't afford to lose the whole damn universe. _Every _damn universe, in fact.

When Chun-Li called him, he suddenly leaped from his seat in surprise and dropped his spoon on the floor. He then picked it up and wiped it clean with a napkin, before setting down on his seat once more.

"Are you okay, Mr. Wright?" asked Chun-Li again, with a puzzled look on her face.

"Yeah, of course I am," said Phoenix with a smile. It was an obvious lie, but Chun-Li opted not to point it out. "I… was just wondering if Maya knows all of this, too."

"She does," answered the Interpol agent. "I was there when Mr. Stark started to brief her on the situation. I know what you were probably thinking. You probably thought that she went all _'I'm a superhero! Awesome!' _on us. Well, she didn't… at first, at least. She showed amazing insight, mind you, before the idea of becoming some sort of superhero started filling her head. It was fun to watch her afterwards."

_That scenario is starting to form a vivid image in my head. Somehow, it includes Maya foaming from the mouth. Although knowing her, it'll be hard to imagine her realistically without it, after what's been said to her._

"So what you're saying is that the very nature of this merged Earth makes it important to securing the fate of the universe," said Phoenix, while shoving a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. "How does that work exactly?"

"Mr. Stark is currently researching that," said Chun-Li, turning towards Phoenix again. "The other day, he told me that he was almost finished with stitching up the facts together, but I doubt he'd be finished anytime soon. So for the moment, I don't have an answer for that question."

"Then how about telling me how Maya and I got here?" asked Phoenix, as he took another spoonful of ice cream.

"That I can do," remarked Chun-Li, as she rearranged the sprinkles on her sundae. "Remember the passageways? Whenever someone goes through one of those, a distinct energy signature latches on to that person's body, which starts to permeate from that person when he comes out into the other side. We just locate the source of that permeation before it disperses completely. As Mr. Stark, puts it: 'We know you just took a shower, because we can smell the shampoo from your hair', or something to that effect. I know what you're thinking. Either he's not that good with metaphors or he's better than all of us with them. Anyway, whatever happens _during _travel time though, we don't know, since none of us can remember what we went through to get here. What we do know about the gateways are from observational data gathered from people like you who came after us."

_A shower… I could really use one. Ugh. No, Phoenix, focus on giving questions and worry about personal hygiene later._

"Energy permeation?" asked Phoenix.

"Yes," answered Chun-Li, scooping another spoonful of her frosted dessert. "I didn't understand it at first, either. The passageway opened up by the space-time rift acts like a bridge from your universe to this world merger, and as you pass through it, what they theorize is that the energy that forms within that bridge clings onto you, leaving a sort of trail that we can use to detect you in the first few hours of your coming. So, it's kinda like using bread crumbs: even if the gateway closes before we get to it, we can find the person who came through it by tracking down their 'scent', so to speak."

"And that's how you found me and Maya?" asked Phoenix. "So we probably came through the portal at the same time, huh?"

"_Hyperdimensional gateway._"

"Huh?

"That's what Mr. Stark calls it," said Chun-Li. A wry smile appeared on her lips as she enjoyed the look of confusion on Wright's face. "He'll always correct you with that. He's very sensitive about people calling it a portal. As for you and Maya, you didn't come out at the same time: you appeared a day later than Maya. And we're not sure why."

"A day later?" asked Phoenix. "So the port—er, _gateway_ that brought us here dumped us at different times?"

"That's highly unlikely," responded Chun-Li.

"Meaning?"

"The gateways are bridges, and they're all one-way. I don't think I've ever seen a bridge branch into two different directions before—in real life, I mean—but what you're implying is that a single gateway brought you here."

Phoenix bit his lower lip. "Well, yeah, I guess that _is _sort of what I'm implying."

"That's impossible," contradicted Chun-Li. "The passageways only have one entry and exit point, and once they appear and take their 'passenger' out to their destination, they whittle away after a few hours. Not only did you and Maya appear between a wide margin of time, but you also appeared in different places."

Phoenix fell silent for a while, before wondering about the significance of the difference in time and place. _"Is _the difference significant?"

"Well, for starters, you two sleep in the same place, don't you?" asked Chun-Li. "If the current cycle called for you and Maya, then it could theoretically have taken you both at once, yet it didn't. _Why _it didn't is something our resident science geeks are interested in finding out."

"Are you sure it didn't?"

"Yes."

The two of them paused for a moment, as they waited for the other to talk. Apparently, it didn't occur to Chun-Li that she wasn't supposed to finish her answer so suddenly.

"Uh, care to explain how?" responded Phoenix, after a rather lengthy, awkward silence.

"Oh, uh, right, sorry," muttered Chun-Li, as she realized her mistake. Grinning she continued, "Well, for starters, if you don't put into account the length in time and distance between both of your 'deliveries', the energy signatures are very distinct. If you and Maya did come from the same gateway, then you would have carried the same energy signatures."

"Why are the energy signatures so distinct?"

"Come to think of it, I asked the same question once," remarked Chun-Li. "If I remember correctly, Mr. Pym told me that it was because these passageways appear at unique moments—moments defined as singular points in time and space—causing them to… to… how do I explain this? You know, like radio frequencies, they sort of like have this distinct, exact 'frequency' that is sort of like their personal ID when they appear, and… and… this unique exactness of their 'frequencies'—or their points, locations really—causes them to have very distinct, very different energy signatures."

_Okay, this is getting a little too confusing for my brain to handle. Of course, if this was a case then a detail like that would be plenty significant, so maybe this situation is no different. Maybe there's an easier topic to discuss?_

"Uh, how long have you guys been here?" asked Phoenix after a while, slightly changing the topic.

Chun-Li muttered a few words to herself in Chinese as she tapped the table with one, slender finger. "About nine months, I guess. I'm not sure, but it feels like we've been on their tail for about that long."

"Whose tail exactly?" asked Phoenix.

"Oh, them," answered Chun-Li, as she took another spoonful of her frozen dessert. "Dr. Victor Von Doom and Albert Wesker. The former is the genius, egomaniacal dictator of the country of Latveria, a brilliant scientific mind as well as an adept practitioner of the mystic arts. The latter is a brilliant virologist and an equally egomaniacal megalomaniac with delusions of grandeur, not to mention a bioterrorist. They're the two most dangerous men on the planet at the moment, and we've been hounding them for nine months now."

There was an utter silence afterwards, as Phoenix tried to organize his thoughts. Someone could have told him that they were after criminal masterminds beforehand, since the part where they were also fighting a large, cosmic entity wearing a purple helmet had him wondering if he was either in a dream, or in a mental institution. But wait, what did she say they were?

"The two most dangerous men on the planet?" repeated Phoenix.

"Yep. Plus, there's also M.O.D.O.K., the leader of A.I.M., and Magneto, a well-intentioned mutant extremist, who according to Logan is a good man fighting for a good cause the wrong way," answered Chun-Li. "But since M.O.D.O.K. has been acting passively in the last few months and we're not too keen on Magneto's whereabouts since he hasn't really tried anything big since the beginning, we're focusing all our resources on locating Doom and Wesker."

"Who's Logan?" asked Phoenix. There were all these people that she kept on mentioning that he was having a hard time committing them all to memory.

"An old friend. Also, one of us," came the reply.

"One of us?"

"A crossover… -er… a crossover… a crossover-er… ugh," mumbled Chun-Li. She had been trying to come up with a name for people like them who have crossed over, but until Maya came along, nobody really thought it was an important matter. Not even Tron. And unfortunately for her, the task itself was easier said than done. "Sometimes, I wish we had neologism division. Maybe you could join it Mr. Wright, when I get it off the ground."

"Sure," agreed Phoenix, although he wasn't quite sure what she was talking about.

For a while, they both sat in awkward silence, as it seemed the conversation came to an abrupt end. He mindlessly stirred the creamy goo that his ice cream had melted into, all the while staring into the bowl. He wasn't quite sure what to think of everything she had told him up to that point, and more importantly, he was questioning the reality of it all.

"Your ice cream's melting, Mr. Wright," Chun-Li helpfully pointed out, as she licked her spoon clean. "If you're not going to finish it, it'll be an awful shame to let it go to waste."

Phoenix realized what she was implying, and promptly pushed the bowl towards her side of the table. As soon it was in reach, Chun-Li licked her lips and started digging through it like it was some lost Aztec gold mine, stuffing her face with every shovel of ice cream. Her showcase of how massive a sweet tooth she had was a sight to behold. And an awfully cute one at that.

"You really like ice cream, don't you?" asked Phoenix, when he realized that he may have found Maya's rival in the eating business. No wonder they seemed to get along nicely.

"Not exactly. I love all kinds of sweets," came the response, between consecutive scoops. "Ever since my dad gave me my first mooncake when I was little, I've loved confections my whole life. I never pass by a candy shop without at least buying a box of licorice or pocky. I even—is… is there something wrong, Mr. Wright?"

Phoenix didn't notice how he stared at her, smiling. He thought himself stupid for thinking that the world he's in now was any different from the world he knew. This was still Earth, these were still people, and though he's never been in New York, he knew this was no different from the New York from the Earth he was from.

He knew that then and there, that there was no point in moping about the mess he was in. He still wasn't sure about being shoe-horned into saving the world, but if there was _anything _at all that he can do to help, that day, he made sure he was to do his best.

These were still people, the individuals he was interacting with. And good people at that.

"Is there something on my face?" she asked him.

"Nothing, really," spoke Phoenix. "Just a few dabs of ice cream on both sides of your mouth. But please, go on."

Chun-Li smiled. She picked up a napkin from the side of the table, wiped her face clean, and continued.

* * *

><p>"<strong>Just give us the bag, lady," spoke the rather burly man in the black shirt and blue jeans. "Just give us the bag and no one has to get hurt."<strong>

"Unless you want us to hurt you," added his smaller but still muscular, mustachioed companion, as he held the knife closer to the young woman's neck. A lecherous smile crept up his hairy-lipped face as he leaned closer to hers. "Just say so, and I'll hurt you so nicely you'll beg me for more."

"Yeah, what he said," said the first, in what he thinks was an intelligent addition to the conversation.

The alley was dark, and moist, and smelly, but mostly dark, and that was how thugs loved it, and the dark clouds above added a lot to the atmosphere of death and decay. Sometimes, one has to wonder why pretty, young women insist on walking alone in places where the signs that it was the farthest thing from a good idea were increasingly and obviously evident, but the young woman these particular muggers were mugging was the last person you'd call easy prey.

For varying definitions of 'person.'

"C'mon, would you guys quit the yapping and take her purse already!" cried a third low-life as his eyes veered left and right at the tops of the buildings enclosing the alleyway. Cold sweat trickled down his monobrow as he bit down harder on the crooked cigarette he had clamped in his mouth. The cold winds blew away the ashes from his stump of a cigarette and scattered them to the wind. "Hurry up, will ya?"

"Why so nervous?" asked the biggest man, as he turned to the third man.

"You know the stories, don't ya?" answered the nervous man. His hands were shaking as he took the cigarette butt from his mouth and stomped on it as soon as it fell to the pavement. "The ones about some sort of bug man beating up guys like us to a pulp and leaves 'em to the cops."

"You actually believe that crap? Whatta maroon," asked the first man. He was what some would call a skeptic. He was an idiot as well, but he thought himself smarter than his pals since he was the only one of them who didn't buy into the urban mythological crap that they drilled into their heads as gospel. Of course, he was wrong on this account. "Those are just one of 'em stories the police make up to scare guys like us. I ain't afraid of no giant bug. And if it _was_real, I'll just squash it like the bug that it is, that I will."

"No, man," disagreed the second one, the one who thought he was some sort of hot catch. He had a face that only a mother would love, and his own mother didn't even believe that seeing as she threw him off into the streets once it was apparent that he'll never give her grandchildren, coupled with the fact that he was an annoying slacker, but that never stopped him from hitting on every dame he's ever met up to that point. "Those ain't stories. They're real I tell ya. My brother knows this guy that works for the Kingpin whose gang was beat up by a bunch of these masked weirdos. He said the bug guy could shoot some sort of sticky, rope-like things from his hands and ties guys up upside-down from lampposts."

"See? They're real, man," said the third man to his skeptical first companion. "I hear he can stick to walls and stuff. As in crawl on them, like some sort of insect. Like an ant or a spider. Like some sort of Man-Spider, y'know?"

"I also hear he's incredibly handsome. And that he's called 'Spider-Man', not Man-Spider."

All three men stopped in their tracks as soon as they heard the voice. As the third chanced to speak, a strand of web shot onto his face and he was pulled up into the darkness of the upper echelons of the alley, struggling to scream as disappeared into the depths of the rooftops above.

"Who's there?" screamed the big guy. His hands shook as he held onto his would-be victim's arm, and his black shirt clung to his body as he found himself suddenly drenched in cold sweat. "Who the hell are you? Show yourself, freak!"

"I told you!" cried the second man. His Casanova tendencies disappeared as soon as it became clear he wasn't going to be able to get out of this particular mess. "It's him! It's totally him! It's the freaking Spider-Man!"

"Ah," spoke the voice. "It seems that I've found the brains of the trio. Hmm. If you're the brains, you're pal there is most probably the brawn, then what's with the skinny guy? Comic relief? Well, that's… That's actually pretty good. Reminds me of my team."

"It's the freaking Spider-Man! That's it! I'm outta here!" shouted the lecherous mugger once more, and he dropped the knife he was holding against the young woman whose eyes were as purple as lavenders. Frantically, he started to dash out of the alleyway, leaving his companion behind.

"Hey! Don't leave me!" squeaked the big man after his companion. That's right. Squeaked. Like a mouse.

Unfortunately for Casanova, to his utter disbelief he found a large spider web blocking his only way out of the alley. By running straight into it. The image of pants-wetting terror on his face as he believed he was about to be devoured by a giant half-man half-spider monster was the sight of pure comedic genius that the arachnid felt it better to leave him crying himself to unconsciousness.

Meanwhile, the large, skeptical man drew his gun and grabbed his hostage, wrapping one burly arm around her neck. It seems that right now he was ready to accept urban myth as gospel.

"Spiderman? Are you out there?" he cried, nervously.

"It's Spider-Man with a hyphen between spider and man," the voice shouted back. "Seriously, you guys should remember that. It's hyphenated. It's not a surname. Jeez. You don't hear the wife of the guy living next door to you tell him, 'Honey, how about we invite the Spidermans over for dinner?', do you?"

"How did you…? Who are you? _What _are you?" he shouted nervously at the heavens, pointing his pistol upwards towards the dark skies. "What the hell _are_ you, Spider-Man?"

"Your friendly neighborhood wallcrawling, webslinging aracknight, duh," spoke the voice once more. "I was summoned by your friend up here almost saying my name right. It's one of my mystical powers."

A webline shot out of the darkness and covered the man's gun-wielding hand in the sticky fluid. In his surprise, he was about to pull the trigger at the perceived threat before a hand reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him.

He came face-to-face with a man a few inches shorter than he was, wearing a red and blue outfit that concealed his entire body, and a mask half of which was covered by two, giant bug-eyed lenses.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," spoke the arachnid.

"Why wouldn't I?" said the burly man, whose nervousness started to leave him after seeing what he was up against. He trained his firearm towards the wallcrawler's head as a huge grin formed on his face. "For a second there I was really scared, I got to admit. You sounded pretty scary, what with my boys panicking around me. But it turns out, you're just some clown in pajamas."

"Hey, I may be no Batman, but I can hurt you six more ways 'til Sunday than he can," spoke the webhead. "Besides I'm doing you a good deed, here."

He then proceeded to effortlessly lift the man off the ground with one hand by the collar of his shirt, forcing him to drop the young woman. The look of terror that returned to the thug's face as he was being lifted up by a guy smaller than he was almost topped the one Mr. Lecherous made when he found himself caught in a spider web a while earlier. _Almost._

"You see," Spider-Man told his sniveling friend, "I made these webs myself, using _science, _so you're peanut of a brain wouldn't exactly understand the kind of process that goes into making these. All you need to know is that these things are tougher than industrial steel."

"S-So?" asked the thug, even though he dared not to.

"So, your gun doesn't have a strong enough firepower to break apart my webbing. Ergo, pull that trigger, and the recoil caused by the reactionary forces of the bullet leaving the chamber will be enough to rip your hand clean off your arm, leaving you with a nice, bleeding stump. You probably won't want that to happen, 'cause you don't look _that _stupid, so more than likely you aren't going to pull the trigger. Right?"

He then threw the thug to the cold pavement. The man stood up, bewildered, and thanked his lucky stars before running off to freedom.

"Be sure to head straight to the cops," cried Spider-Man.

Unfortunately for the mugger, he followed the direction his friend Mr. Lecherous ran off to. So one could only imagine the look on his face when he bumped into him in the web.

"_God,_ I'm trapped! What _are these?_ Help me! _Someone! Help!" _he squealed. That's right. Squealed. Like a pig.

The look on his face was a lot funnier, hopefully.

The webhead then proceeded to walk towards the young woman whose black hair was highlighted with purple hues. He gave her a hand, and helped her up to her feet.

"You certainly took your time, Mr. Parker," she told him, before giving him a warm smile and thanking him for the help. She took her purse from the floor and checked its contents as the arachnid was getting ready to run off.

"Well, with great power does come the great responsibility to scare the bejeezus out of somebody, I mean… wait—"

He turned around and faced her once more. He looked at her from top to bottom.

The color flushed out of Spider-Man's face, not that anyone would notice it considering that he wears a mask. But:

"—what did you call me?"

The young woman smiled and proceeded to walk opposite the direction the thugs ran off to. Her eyes were as purple as lavenders, and her long, flowing, black hair showed purple highlights coloring each strand. She was beautiful, and her smile elicited nothing but the feeling of pure ecstasy, but something about her felt off. He could feel it.

"Unfortunately, this isn't the time for introductions," she said, looking back at him. "We'll meet once more, sooner than you think. This afternoon, actually, to discuss not only the fate of your biosphere, but the fate of our entire cosmos, and the universes that came before and would come after. For the meantime however, watch out for any traitors in your midst. They're closer than they seem."

"Wh-Who are you?" he asked once more, but she had run off, her violet handbag tucked neatly under her arm. It was quite obvious what her favorite color was, wasn't it? But that wasn't what was so important about her.

The sound of a phone ringing reverberated throughout the dark alley.

"Hello?" answered the arachnid. The voice on the other line came to him as clear as daylight.

"_Peter, I just received your text, so I called as quickly as I could,"_ answered Stark, in a synthesized voice that could only mean he was using his armor's communications module. _"How's the hunt for Dante's brother going?"_

"Zero and X are with Dante and Deadpool at the moment tracking down Vergil's heat signature," explained the arachnid. "They say the body temperature of demons is slightly higher than that of humans, and with the current weather we'll be having, his body heat will become much easier to track."

"_I see," _answered Stark. _"Well, tell them to keep it up. Now, the reason I called—"_

"Wait, there's something else," interrupted Spider-Man. "I just stopped a mugging right now, and in the process I met someone."

"_Look, I told you. If you want, we can go meet girls this Saturday. You just have to trust me and—"_

"No, you don't get it," cried Spider-Man. "I met a young woman. She knew who I was. I think she's connected to him somehow."

"_To who?"_

"To him," spoke the wallcrawler ominously. "To you-know-who."

"…_How can you tell?"_

"Purple eyes. Purple highlights in her hair," enumerated Spider-Man. "Purple coat, purple boots, purple handbag."

"_Her favorite color won't be enough to—"_

"Her irises were rectangles, Tony," insisted the arachnid in a sterner tone of voice. "And she knew who I was. Who I _really _am. She said we'll meet again, sooner than I think."

"…_Anything else?"_

"She told me to look out for traitors."

There was a slight pause as a sigh could be heard from the other line.

"…_All right, come back to the Tower. I was going to ask you to come back anyway," _said Tony finally._ "We don't know who that was or what she meant, and I don't want there to be any conclusion-jumping on our side so come back here. Take Dante and Deadpool back with you. There's something I need you to fix."_

"What? Tony, I know what I saw. If I follow her now, I can—"

"_Stark Tower. Now. That's an order, Avenger." Click. _Static.

* * *

><p><strong>It was dark in there, and as Maya struggled to find the light switch, she inadvertently tripped and fell. For perhaps the twelfth time. Maybe twenty. No one was counting, thank God, but really she should be more—<strong>

"Aaaaahhh!"

"Maya," whispered Tron in the dark, as she struggled to find the light switch herself, "was that you again?" She continued to feel her way through the area, commanding Gustaff to move forward slowly and carefully, lest they attract attention to themselves.

"Sorry," said Maya, as she felt the bump on her head. She winced as she touched it slightly, then decided that she better be more careful. Hopefully more than the last twelve times. "I'm just no good at blind navigation. I think I hit my head on something." Then with a sigh, she added, "Funny, I can go through dark wine cellars with no problem."

"Try and be careful," advised Tron. "I'm not sure how much more head trauma you can take."

"I'll try," replied Maya. She stood up and proceeded to walk forward, staying close to the walls as she felt them for the light switch. "Where are we anyway?"

"You'll see," said Tron, and Maya fell silent with a meek "If you say so."

They continued to feel through the dark, with Maya keeping close to the walls in order for her to avoid tripping over her own feet. As she leaned on the hard concrete walls, she felt her hand all around it, and reached up as high and low as she could, looking for the switches. She tapped the wall, first lightly, then harder, and realized by the vibrations she made that the room they were in, whatever it was, was _huge._

_What is this place? It feels absolutely humongous!_

As she continued to feel for the switch, she felt a small metal box attached to the wall. She moved her hand underneath it, and felt a cord run down from it and onto the floor, realizing that it ran along the floor of that room indefinitely. She felt the box for a small gap on its side and pulled on it, opening a compartment. She ran her hand inside it, and felt four plastic bar-like things protruding diagonally from inside the compartment. Maya flipped the switches, and one by one the lights went on in that room.

And it turned out it wasn't just a room. It might have been a car show, or a truck stop, or a _hangar, _but not a _room._ No way in hell was it a "room." On the one hand, Tron preferred to simply refer to it as a _garage_ of all things, which made things less than clear. A lot less.

"You call _this _a _garage?" _asked Maya, wide-eyed.

"Well, yeah," said Tron. "I mean, sure it's kinda hard to take in, but Mr. Stark calls it a garage, and it's kinda justified to call it that." Gustaff took two steps forward as Tron searched around. "I mean, it has cars, so it's a garage, right?"

Tony Stark. So rich he has a Boeing 757 in his garage.

Maya couldn't believe her eyes, and who could blame her? She was standing on an elevated glass platform, four stories above the ground. Below her, four quinjets were parked in the middle of the floor, surrounded by about a dozen more lighter aircraft, and three dozen cargo and pick-up trucks. The platform she was standing on was literally _littered _with cars of different shapes and sizes.

Wright was no car enthusiast, heck, he didn't even know how to drive, so it was quite unlikely that Maya would know anything about them. But even she could tell that it was a _very _impressive collection. Not just the floor she was on, but about four more floors above her were full of parked cars. Vintage models, brand new models, subcompacts, compacts, mid-size cars, full-size cars, sports cars, of every motor vehicle brand known to man.

After a good few minutes of ogling at the mother of all garages, Maya searched around for her companion, whom she found on the other side of the platform, seemingly looking for something. Then, after a while, Tron Bonne jumped out of Gustaff's compartment and approached a nearby car, a black and white Camaro convertible. She then called Maya and told her to come over to where she was, then disappeared inside the vehicle. Maya approached her and found her crouching down on the front seat of the vehicle, while the car's front compartment was open.

"What are you doing?" asked Maya curiously. "And why are we here?"

"I promised that we were gonna do something fun, right?" said Tron. A coy smile suddenly formed on her face.

"Yeah," replied Maya. "So?"

"I was thinking we could take Mr. Stark's car for a spin," said Tron, as she took a pair of pliers from her vest pocket and started cutting wires. "It's gonna be fun, honest.

"What? That's illegal!" cried Maya. She knew the law, perhaps more than most people. Not by much, though. But any decent person didn't have to be told that stealing was crime, and that grand theft auto was an even bigger crime. They're also a series of very successful video games, but Maya thought that it wasn't the right time to point that out. "Besides, you're not even old enough to drive."

"I'm not even old enough to get a driver's license," commented Tron as she connected two pieces of exposed wire together, creating a few sparks. Somehow, she completely ignored the fact that 'being old enough to drive' and 'being old enough to get a driver's license' essentially meant the same thing. Since, you know, you can't drive without a driver's license. Well, of course you _can _if you knew how_, _but honestly, you _shouldn't. _It's against the law, if that wasn't obvious enough.

She was only fourteen by the way, fifteen tops. She could build a mean robot in her spare time. She could repair machinery and vehicles faster than most trained professionals. But she didn't have a driver's license. "But I've been building and piloting machines and mecha for as long as I remember, so I'm sure driving cars won't be that much of a difference."

"There's a difference between driving something you _made," _explained Maya, "and something you didn't."

"Don't be such a killjoy, Maya," said Tron happily as she snipped more wires.

"Besides, won't Mr. Stark freak out if he found out his car was missing?"

"Are you kidding me?" asked Tron. "Look at how many cars are in here. It's like noticing a missing grain of sand from the beach."

"You've got a point there," agreed Maya, but she shook her head hard when she realized she was actually agreeing to this plan. In another life she might have, but not when she's the secretary of a lawyer. "B-But this is _illegal! _You're_carjacking!"_

"Hey!" cried Tron Bonne. "I know the difference between grand theft auto and borrowing without permission, Maya. We're just gonna borrow this car, take it for a ride around town, and bring it back here in one piece. Easy! Mr. Stark wouldn't even notice!"

True. Tony wasn't a very observant man when it came to things that didn't matter. When it comes to analyzing which are the most vulnerable spots in a man's body in a fight, or the location of the central control panel in a Sentinel Prime in order to disable it and every Sentinel under its command, Tony was a very observant man.

When it came to his cars, he didn't care much. Unless they were a vintage model, or one that has some sentimental value, or one that was very, _very _expensive even for him, he wouldn't notice that it was missing until you tell him directly. And he probably wouldn't care even then.

"Actually, he did," they heard a voice say. It was a sultry voice, its inflections were enchanting and were spoken in a tone of voice that was simply charming. Maya swore she would have swooned for the person who owned that voice just by hearing it if she were a man, something she liked to tell Phoenix on future occasions, as if Phoenix didn't understand why. Of course he understood. "You are getting rusty little Tron Bonne. Did it not occur to you to change the camera feeds or disable the security system?"

Tron smacked her forehead. "I knew it. I knew there was something I should have done first. Hacking into the garage's security system and overriding the alarms were easy enough. Heh. So what are you doing here, Morrigan?"

She and Maya then turned around to the sight of beautiful young woman with green hair and eyes, floating above them in sitting position, with her legs crossed and her hands resting daintily on her knees. Her hair was wet and a pristine, white bathrobe was all she wore.

_She's beautiful, _thought Maya to herself. _I mean, really beautiful. Gosh, if Nick was here right now he'd probably—wait, are those batwings coming out of her back… and her head?_

"I was told to look for you, young troublemaker," spoke Morrigan. "Tony told me of your whereabouts and sent me right away to find you. He didn't even consider the fact that I was taking a shower at the moment. Really, men."

"Heh. Am I in trouble?" asked Tron. Maya saw a single drop of sweat travel all the way from her forehead down her cheek.

"On the contrary, he told me that you can take the car," said the succubus. _"We_ can take the car, I mean."

"We?"

"We're on assignment, my dear," explained Morrigan. "We're going to be investigating some dreadful warehouses by the Hudson river. Truly, not the best use of my abilities, but I must admit that it is good to rest here and there. There are just so many things a princess can do without tiring herself."

_She's a princess? A princess?_

"Just the two of us?" asked Tron. "What about Chun?"

"It seems the policewoman is busy prepping up a new crossover… crossover-er," she stuttered, then mumbled to herself. "Dear me, we really need to have a standard term created. She is busy with the last person who crossed over at the moment, so she won't be joining us."

"Oh, you mean Nick?" asked Maya.

"Nick? So that is his name?" asked Morrigan back. It seemed that she hadn't noticed Maya until then. "And who might you be, my dear?"

"Uh, Maya Fey," answered the spirit channeler. "I'm a… uh—"

_Should I say spirit channeler?_

"—I'm a paralegal," said Maya, finally.

"I see," spoke Morrigan, suddenly showing interest. "And this Nick? Is he… a fun person?"

"Nick? No, I wouldn't say that," disagreed Maya. "He's a pretty boring guy, being a lawyer and all."

"A lawyer?" asked Morrigan feigning surprise. The look of amusement was evident as her eyes twinkled in delight. "A lawyer… then that would that mean he is accustomed to running his mouth. Hmm. Interesting. I wonder what _else_he can use it for…"

Up to the present day, Maya has no idea what Morrigan had meant by this. When she once told Phoenix, the lawyer fell off his seat and excused himself, leaving Maya to wonder if she had said anything wrong. Phoenix didn't have the heart to tell her anyway. He would have preferred waiting when the twenty-year old was older, and by that he meant "more mature." Which, considering who Maya is, might never happen.

"Uh, excuse me," interrupted Tron. She was getting tired of all the suspense. She used to be a pirate after all, and boredom was a word that she had never experienced being used in relation with her. That is, until she found herself in this world again. "I'd hate to ruin your introductions, but hello, Morrigan, mission. Remember?"

"Right, right," agreed the succubus. "Well," she started, turning to Maya, "it was nice meeting you, young Maya Fey, but we simply must be off. Perhaps we can continue at a later time."

"Oh, uh, okay then."

She then watched the both of them enter the car, right after Tron had loaded Gustaff into the back, ready to go off on some dangerous mission that she was sure superheroes got to go to all the time. Superheroes. She was in a whole new world now, Maya had thought. She had met people who could lift cars and trucks, and fly, and control the weather, and have bionic limbs for arms. These were the kinds of things she could only watch on television and read in her comic books and mangas.

Was she satisfied with living the life of a secretary? As much as her and Nick's adventures excite and exhilarate her, nothing could compare to the life of a superhero. And in Maya's easily excitable mind, the opportunity had presented itself.

She knocked on the car's windshield. The car's roof then retracted, and both windshields went down.

"What is it?" asked Tron. Sitting on the driver's side, no one would ever make the mistake that she was old enough to drive, seeing as how she was only tall enough to see out the car's front window.

"Hey, can I come join you guys?" Maya asked sheepishly.

"What?" cried Tron. She wasn't expecting this. "Maya, no. You can't. This might be dangerous."

"But… but please, Tron. Can I? Please?" pleaded the spirit channeler. The opportunity had presented itself, and she wasn't going to let anything like danger or the possibility of a gruesome death keep her from achieving her dream, no matter how silly it sounds. To Maya, it was as serious as the fate of the universe itself. Horrible use of analogy, if you think about it.

Of course, Tron wasn't going to let her. She was sure of it. Civilians had no business in possible war zones, and they weren't sure of whatever was going to happen in this investigation. The best way to keep Maya safe would be to leave her behind. But:

"Let her," spoke Morrigan suddenly. "She can come with us."

"What?" cried Tron at what she perceived was a sudden lapse in judgment on Morrigan's side. "Are you crazy?"

From her side, Morrigan leaned over the driver's seat and moved closer to Maya. She stared at her eye-to-eye.

"Uhmm, uh," mumbled Maya. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"In your eyes I see a desire. I can sense it as well in your heart," spoke Morrigan. "Something pure and warm, a feeling of absolute delight and delirium."

_Delirium?_

"You can come with us," she said, finally. "I see no danger in one so young wanting to fulfill a desire so pure and clean." She then went back to her side of the car, and turned to Tron, saying, "That is, if little Tron Bonne is okay with it?"

Tron looked into Maya's eyes as well, and found something that she couldn't explain what it was, yet knew that it was something she could find in herself as well. A deep longing, perhaps? She felt that, much more than Maya does, but for a different reason. She longed for something else entirely.

Something far more different.

She didn't want Maya to come, for reasons that Maya herself thought she knew, but would eventually find out to be wrong. Sooner than she thought.

"Alright," groaned Tron. "I guess nothing will come out of this, anyway. We'll probably just find a few samples to take back to the lab, scan the area for leftover equipment or faint traces of gateway signatures. Nothing exciting. And if something does come up... I guess Morrigan would be enough to take care of us if something goes wrong."

Maya didn't hear anything after "Alright." Her mind was too full of imaginary adventures and quests to care about whatever disappointment Tron was trying to imply in her words. Tron noticed, however, that Maya wasn't hearing any of it. There was no argument to be had, so she simply turned the key, stepped on the gas, and opened the voice-activated garage doors.

She then jumped the car onto the runway leading outside and sped off.

_Best idea ever, _thought Maya, as exhilarating winds blew past her face.

**End of Chapter 3**


	4. Servbot Takeout

**Turnabout Crossover**

* * *

><p><em>"So you could just imagine my surprise when I saw Maya riding in a car being driven by a fourteen-year old mechanic who went to speeds even NASCAR racers were afraid of," he continued, and she giggled at the exaggerated motions he went through as he told his story.<em>

_The night was getting deeper, but there was no stopping them. The story had to be told._

_"Seriously, Maya can't be left five minutes on her own without everyone worrying about her."_

_She looked into his eyes as he spoke, and he stopped. He looked at hers and found them to be the most innocent blue eyes he has ever seen. And unknown to him, they were much like his. Unspoiled, pure and perfect._

_"What's she like?" she suddenly asked him._

_"Maya? She's…" he mumbled, seemingly having no idea what to say. "She's a handful, honestly. She never acts her age, and she always gets stuck in these situations that I need to bail her out of. I always have to look out for her because you can never know what sort of trouble she'll get herself into. I don't… I don't even know why I bother with—"_

_"But you like her, right?"_

_"What?"_

_"You like her, right? Because… because if you didn't like her, then there wouldn't be a reason to put up with her, right?"_

_He looked at her and saw that she was eagerly waiting for a response, a reply, anything. She wanted to know what he had to say._

_What did she want to hear? The truth? It wasn't like the truth was something he was desperate to hide._

_"No, no, you misunderstand," he told her. "You see, it's not that I like… I mean, if it wasn't for Mia… Mia was the only reason I even bothered—"_

_He looked into her eyes. He saw his reflection, and it was then that he knew that she wanted the truth. What he wanted to say wasn't the truth, it was nowhere near it. And in her eyes he saw that she knew as well._

_"—the truth is," he continued, this time a little more composed, "I do like Maya. I can even say that I love her. She's… like family to me. There are times when I think that if it wasn't for Mia, I would never bother myself with her, but the truth is…"_

_"Maya is… Maya?"_

_"Yeah, something like that," he told her, and she smiled. "Maya is as Maya does. She's fun to have around, and she's like that bubbling pot of joy that brings light into my dull and boring life, and every morning would never be worth waking up for if she wasn't there by my side brightening it up._

_"I guess what I want to say is that yes, I do like her, because I would never have put up with her so long if I didn't."_

_"But is she worth it?"_

_"What? What is it with that question?"_

_"I mean, you say she's a handful, but she's the reason you wake up in the morning. So is she worth it?"_

_He smiled. "For a little girl, you ask a lot of good questions."_

_She smiled right back at him. "Is she, then?"_

_"Is she worth it?" he pondered. "Is having my carefree and fun-loving assistant around with me every second of my life worth all the pain and suffering she inflicts on me day by day just by having her around?"_

_"If you put it like that—"_

_"She is. Of course she is. I know she is," he reassured her, and she smiled. "Maya is worth all of that and more. I swear to God, she is. Hell, my life wouldn't be half as interesting as it is now if she was never with me at every point of my life. She was the spark that started everything. To be honest… to put it simply: Maya is worth going through hell."_

_"What happened next?" she asked eagerly._

_"Oh, right," he exclaimed, and he cleared his throat. "Maya being there wasn't actually the worst part. The worst part was that the woman named Morrigan Aensland was there. She was one of the more powerful ones, and the mere fact that she was on whatever mission they were on meant that it was something big. Of course, we later found out that she was sent there for very different reasons but the timing couldn't have been more perfect."_

_"Why is that?"_

_"Because when Chun-Li and I finally trailed them to where they were headed: to a complex full of empty warehouses, a bad feeling started to crawl in my gut. And I can tell you, my gut is never wrong. In my time there, I was always told by everyone that there were no accidents. That the universe plans everything in advance, and I'm not sure if having headed into trouble on my first day counted as reality trying to screw me over, but if it was, it seemed the universe had really freaky plans for me._

_"Somehow, we found ourselves plunging headfirst into a fight that we never hoped to win, and before we knew it, we were surrounded."_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4: Servbot Takeout<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Worst idea ever, <strong>_**thought Maya, as several dozen A.I.M. agents stared them down like a pack of ravening wolves.**

"Ah, you are here, just as planned," said the man wearing sunglasses, who had slicked-back blonde hair and was fully clad in black leather. He waved his arms around as if to punctuate every word he spoke, and he paced the floor as if to make his presence felt more.

He stopped and stared at the ground for a moment, before raising his head and turned to them again, saying, "Let's see: the succubus, the policewoman, the child thief and... what do we have here? A pair of civilians?" He eyed Phoenix and Maya with a bored, disinterested look of contempt, with eyes that instilled a nagging fear in Phoenix's mind that he couldn't comprehend.

Phoenix swore he could see the man's eyes _glow red _through his sunglasses_._

"Have you become so desperate as to include mere civilians into your ranks? Most pathetic, whelps. The least you could have done was to bring that infuriating annoyance _Spider-Man_ along with you, so I, Albert Wesker, would have the chance to finally crush him once and for all."

He paced the floor again as he spoke, and his very presence made cold sweat run down Phoenix's forehead. Maya stood behind the lawyer, visibly afraid, her hands shaking as she held on tightly to the back of his coat.

_This is bad, _he thought, _this is very bad._

Chun-Li stood beside him, calm and collected as she assumed a fighting stance, while on the other side Tron shifted it into high gear, putting Gustaff on manual Battle Mode. Above them Morrigan floated silently in a sitting position, with her legs crossed and her hands firmly planted on her knees. She still kept on smiling, leaving Phoenix to wonder if she wasn't in the slightest bit appalled at how things turned out. And why she was only clad in a bathrobe.

**"Inferior beings such as yourselves are no match for the onslaught that is Doom,"** spoke another man beside the leather-clad one. This man was fully covered from head to toe in a metal suit of armor, and wore a green cape and hood. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his cold stare made Phoenix even more nervous than he already was. **"You should consider yourselves fortunate that I, the great Victor Von Doom, have honored you with my presence, despite you're unworthiness to bask in the glory that is Doom. I suggest you surrender now, lest you incur my wrath further. And fair warning, the wrath of the one, true supreme ruler of Latveria is the **_**last**_**thing you would want to befall you, infidels."**

Phoenix and his companions simply stood there, completely frozen in place, on that dirt road as the villains ranted on. A compound of warehouses, all seemingly abandoned and desolate, with boarded-up windows and hole-ridden walls, populated the area as far as he could see. He tried to hatch out a plan on his own, something to save Maya from the inevitable. The only thing on his mind was to save Maya. But no thought occurred to him, his mind was as blank as a clean slate and his body was all stressed-out and frigid.

_It's them, _he thought, _it's actually them. Doom... and Wesker... man, what the heck are we going to do now?_

"And it is most unfortunate for you five that it was quite generous of M.O.D.O.K. to lend a handful of his scientists from A.I.M. to assist in this operation," commented the leather-clad man.

Behind the two villains stood several dozen men in breather masks wearing yellow uniforms, each holding an individual weapon, aligned in militaristic rows. They looked more like soldiers than scientists, and beneath their masks Phoenix could imagine them as scowling and menacing figures who were just itching to pull the triggers of their guns or smash skulls with their over-sized batons and hammers. They marched forward as their superiors conversed, confident in their ability to subdue this small team of heroes.

**"Meaning Doom does not have to soil his hands in dealing with these interlopers,"** added the man clad in armor. **"Listen closely, feeble-minded whelps, for Doom will not repeat himself: surrender peacefully, or we shall be forced to use any means necessary to take you down."**

"Still, it's quite peculiar," said the leather-clad man, smiling, as he cupped his chin in thought, "for Stark to send the succubus. Meaning he might have suspected that we're running a bigger operation here. I must applaud him for that."

"And I must applaud you for noticing that I am a threat," said Morrigan, and as she clapped her hands mockingly, rubbing the wry smile off of Wesker's face. "Ooh... You're angry... I love that in a man. I can sense your anger, your frustration, your indifference, all buried deep within your system. It feels so good... such a pure, demented emotion from a purely demented man." She caressed her face, an image of wild ecstasy, and she slid her hands down her body, before letting them rest on her knees. "Oh, the ways I could manipulate that malevolence, if only you would let it out."

Phoenix felt himself sweating harder as his face grew hotter. Morrigan was beautiful, he could see that, but her voice and the way her arms moved around the curvature of her body, it could make a man melt. And as far as he could tell, she was only wearing a clean, white bathrobe and black boots.

_What the hell was that just now?_

Wesker smirked. "Unfortunately for you, as the man who will become a god, I'm not easily tempted by mortal desires or swayed by a near-immortal's deceits. If only you were as wise as you are enchanting, succubus, you might have had a chance. A brain to go with all that beauty is what you lack."

Rather than become enraged at the comment as Phoenix expected her to be, Morrigan simply let out a small laugh. "Haha-ha. You know me not, mortal, yet you are quick to judge. If it's all the same to you, whether you are the man who will become a god, or a man who can only _hope_ of becoming a god, you are still nothing more to me than dust beneath my fingertips, Albert Wesker. You are the least of my concerns." Then she smiled again, with a grin that simply evoked contempt. "No, you are not even worthy of my concern."

_Scary, _thought Phoenix, as he swallowed the saliva that was building up in his mouth. _I wouldn't want to meet her in a dark alley. Actually, I would... I mean, no! That's not what I meant! I was... I was just... wait, why am I explaining myself to myself?_

Wesker's smile disappeared completely.

"To be a mortal such as yourself who is determined to deny his mortality," continued Morrigan. "It is the most depressing of all human flaws. Though you lack my concern, you gain in abundance my sympathies, Albert Wesker. I pity you."

Before he could say another word, Doom stepped forward and stopped Wesker as he opened his mouth. **"Silence, Wesker, you have spoken enough nonsense. Only Doom is fit to be the god of this world, and as my lackey, you should have full knowledge of that."**

"Hmph," sneered Wesker as he pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. "We'll see, Doom. We'll see."

_What is it with these guys? _thought Phoenix, at what he perceived as the inane surrealism of the world that he has fallen in. _But this is bad, really, really bad. Dammit, why is it that every time I turn my head, I find myself teetering on the very edge of life and death?_

"Mr. Wright," whispered Chun-Li to the spiky-haired lawyer, without averting her gaze from the adversaries in front of them, "take Maya, then run and hide. Contact Mr. Stark, I've put his number on your phone when we brought you to the Tower. Tell him about our situation and request for back-up. Please hurry."

She then looked as if she was contemplating saying something else.

"And by the way," she added, "I haven't seen a phone like yours since the late 90s. We have _got _to buy you a new one later."

"But... but, what about you guys?" asked Phoenix, anxiously. He didn't like how this was going. "And is it alright to be making light of the situation like this?"

"No worries, Mr. Wright," reassured Tron. "We can handle ourselves for the time being."

She could feel her hands shaking as she held onto Gustaff's levers, but she managed to hide her nervousness from being noticed by Phoenix. It's better not to let the new guy know you're scared as well. Gustaff raised both arms into a fighting stance, as Tron spoke.

"And besides, she added, "witty banter and cracking jokes are part of the job."

"As long as you do not focus more on your banter than on your fight," added Morrigan.

"We'll create a distraction," whispered Chun-Li, "while you and Maya find a good hiding place. When you're sure you're in a safe place, call Mr. Stark right away."

Phoenix nodded halfheartedly. He was scared, more than he ever was in his entire life. _But they need me, _he thought. _Be strong, Wright, for their sake._

**"Doom sincerely hopes that you're whispering about your surrender to him,"** said the armored man, **"for no amount of planning can save you now."**

As the leather-clad man and the armored man proceeded to move closer to them, Chun-Li prompted the start of their defense, shouting, "Morrigan! _Now!_"

The princess of Makai flew up higher into the air and spread her wings. "Dodge this," she said calmly in a seductive tone, as the two villains watched her. Several hundred missiles appeared spontaneously from her wings, and headed straight towards the two villains and their army.

Without even breaking a sweat, Doom raised one hand towards the sky and generated a large force field, completely shielding his forces as missiles exploded left and right, leveling down several warehouses as if they were a stack of cards. Phoenix and Maya fell back as the shock of the destruction shook the ground they were standing on and threw them off-balance.

Chun-Li, herself keeping her equilibrium perfectly, turned to them both, shouting, "Mr. Wright, Maya, get out of here!"

Phoenix and Maya took to their heels and raced down the dirt path that they came from as the missiles continued to fall. The resulting explosions behind them shook the ground violently, distorting their balance even more than before. The duo soldiered on, knowing fully well the consequences of failing their given task.

As soon as the two were out of sight, Morrigan closed her wings and stopped her assault. She flew back down between Chun-Li and Tron, with her arms crossed over her chest, intently waiting for the enemy to make the first move. As soon as the smoke started to disperse, the savagery of the onslaught was as clear as daylight: the entire path in front of them was leveled by about three feet. Debris and rubble from the collapsing, concrete walls of the old warehouses filled the numerous craters made by the explosions, while shards of broken glass and burnt steel and wood are what remained of their windows and gates.

"Oh my," remarked Morrigan as she scanned the area, "I think I should have held back."

"Did we get them?" asked Tron as she tried to look through the thick cloud of smoke and dust.

Chun-Li squinted her eyes to keep out the clouds of dust that got too close to her face, but found them opening wide in surprise at the sight that unfolded in the distance.

"Don't get your hopes up..." she whispered.

Doom and Wesker stood with their arms folded as the smoke cleared; their men stood behind them unscathed and angry.

Undaunted, the monarch of Latveria turned towards his men and spoke, **"You may think of Doom as no more than a tyrant, but it is there that you are wrong. For Doom, like all men, is capable of showing compassion towards those who need it, be it friend or foe. But Doom's compassion, as is the quality of all human emotions, is limited. Do not waste the empathy that Doom has shown you today, for if you fail to defeat and capture these heroes, you will bear witness to the polar opposite of my sympathy... and it is not something you can even imagine to live through."**

And the agents of A.I.M., whether through this show of empathy by being saved by their benefactor, or through fear of disappointing him all the same, charged towards the three heroes in a mad dash, screaming their war cries as they did. They were more akin to brutes than scientists, but perhaps that was their selling point, and with that they were content to themselves. After all, nothing like an afternoon of bashing skulls could possibly ever compare with the long, overworked hours spent in the lab.

Even psycho nerds needed exercise.

"Rousing speech," commented Wesker, with his hands behind his back as he watched the heroes fight off their men.

**"He who will be god should be able to do as much as that,"** said Doom in return. **"I am a king in my country of Latveria. A benevolent ruler to my people. A rightful god to this world. The ability to command legions is a feat found in all potential rulers, but none could hope to dream of having the prowess to overcome mine."**

"Yes, well," said Wesker, "perhaps we could discuss this some other time."

He turned towards the men and observed as they fought off the three heroes, doing their best to overwhelm them.

"As usual, the policewoman's battle prowess is commendable," commented Wesker, as Chun-Li fends off her attackers before they even get the chance to touch her, effortlessly trouncing them as they foolishly approach.

**"Doom is reminded of your assistant,"** said Doom. **"Perhaps she could learn much from studying the enemy's techniques."**

"Pfft. Please, I trained Jill myself. Her skills are more than an overwhelming match for the policewoman."

**"And what of the succubus?"** questioned Doom, as he watched her swiftly dodge the gunfire of the A.I.M. agents. Morrigan then transformed her right wing into a flurry of spear-headed tentacles, and unleashed them upon the agents, slicing their guns. She then swatted them like flies and sent them flying just inches in front of Wesker and Doom. As Doom stared at the unconscious man at his feet, he wondered out loud, **"Morrigan Aensland's strength and speed is unmatched, don't you think so?"**

"Hardly," said Wesker, as he kicked the agent lying in front of him, for his fingers were touching Wesker's loafers. They were designer labeled. "Though Aensland's supernatural powers are beyond my research, her strength, speed and extra appendages can be easily emulated through bio-engineering."

Wesker then turned his eyes towards the young girl piloting a mecha as she fought off several agents using a variety of weapons, including a flamethrower that seemed to come out of nowhere to fend off attackers. "On another note, the work of the Tron Bonne could once again be a potential asset, if I can find a way to fuse robotic attachments to my B.O.W.s effectively. Like adamantium attachments to the Nemesis, for example. She should have stayed longer with us." Then, noticing the Servbot that found its way onto Tron's shoulder, he added, "Although I find no possible use for the small machines she keeps with her."

**"She is a child,"** remarked Doom, as he pointed out the fact. **"There is hardly anything to question about a child having a toy within her possession."**

Behind them, several more A.I.M. agents continued to pour in to replace the fallen ones. There seemed to be no end to their numbers.

As Wesker observed his adversaries in battle, he noticed something off about them. "Doom," he spoke, "weren't there more of them earlier?"

**"So it seems,"** said Doom, noticing the same fact for himself. **"The spiky-haired man in the suit, and the young woman."**

Wesker approached two of their henchmen who were rallying the others and called them. "You two," he ordered, "come here."

The two henchmen approached him and saluted in unison, whilst saying "Yes, sir!" One of them sounded vaguely female, and her physique was much smaller than that of her companion. In fact, there were a number of similar-looking members of the horde that were attacking the trio of heroes fending them off. At least it was safe to safe to say that A.I.M. hires operatives regardless of gender. That was a positive attribute, and possibly the only one it had.

Wesker seemed surprise, and inspected the two of them further. The look on his eyes seemed to suggest that he was familiar with the two, a feat considering he was a man who cared for no one but himself. Not even his allies, or as he liked to call them, his "assets."

"Ah, Alice Dryden and Robert Hamilton, Agent Valentine's personal assistants," he said. He eyed both masked people closely. "How come you're here on the battlefield?"

"The mistress whisked us away to join the ranks," spoke the male henchman, obviously Robert. "The Nemesis was left assisting her on the analysis, and we were given direct orders to return here when the announcement that intruders have come was issued."

"Is that so?" asked Wesker. "Well then, I have a new task for you. Two of the intruders have escaped into parts unknown, but they couldn't have gone far. I want you to search a five block radius starting from this position and weed them out. Kill them on sight if they pose a threat. But if you can, try and keep them alive. It would be good to have a couple of fresh lab rats to test on."

"Yes, sir!" the two saluted in unison, before storming off into another path that avoided the fighting.

**"Aren't those minions of yours quite done with that portal, already?"** asked Doom in an irritated fashion.

"_Interdimensional gateway._"

**"Damn you and your insistence on using that term. Doom does not care for such specifics. What you should drill into that brilliant mind of yours is the answer to Doom's question!"**

"Be patient, Doom," Wesker responded. "By my calculations, they should be halfway through with analyzing the gateway. All we have to do now is stall these heroes long enough to finish the analysis. After all, you're not the only one who's impatiently waiting to find out who's causing these unnatural phenomena."

**"Hmph. Who or **_**what,**_**"** sneered Doom. **"And I thought your plan was to lure them here and capture one of them for interrogation? Most disappointing, Wesker."**

"That would just be a bonus now," admitted Wesker. "I didn't account for Stark to have caught wind of our plans and send the succubus here. My plan only anticipated a small investigative party of the non-superpowered kind. Although this would have been an excellent opportunity to remind our inside man of what's at stake."

**"How can you be so sure that Stark has caught wind of it?"** asked Doom. **"He is not one to think things over. And perhaps you should have drilled it further in your mole's mind what they are putting at stake in trying to stall our plans."**

"Perhaps, perhaps not," said Wesker. "What is important now is that they are reminded of the deal and that it is better for them not to delay their part of the plan further if they know what's good for them."

As the two villains discussed all the probable outcomes and possible permutations of their plot, Chun-Li took on the last of the A.I.M. agents that attacked them. As the agent moved forward, lunging at her with a knife, she swiftly dodged to the left while pulling on the agent's arm. She then flicked his wrist, forcing him to let go of the knife, and in one fluid go, she kneed him in stomach, then delivered a roundhouse kick to his chest, sending him flying several feet back. Panting hard and sweating profusely, Chun-Li fell to the ground and leaned backwards on her elbows.

"You alright, Chun?" asked Tron as Gustaff walked towards her. Her face was covered in dirt and sweat, and her clothes were ruffled and creased, having several small tears on the sleeves of her jacket. "You look like a wreck."

Chun-Li gave her a thumbs up. "I'm alright," she said, "it's... ha... ha... it's just that... I haven't had this much... action in a while."

Morrigan hovered down to ground level, with her arms across her chest, and a look on her unscathed face that seemed almost aroused. "The fleeting feeling of battle," she said, as she looked around her. About eight dozen or so unconscious agents piled up around the three of them. "Oh, how I long for this thrill. This feeling is what I live for."

"Don't get used to it," reprimanded Chun-Li, as she struggled to stand up.

She was a mess. She had small cut on her left cheek and a gash on her right forehead that bled crimson. Her clothes were shredded from the number of knives and blades that sliced through them, while one of her bracelets was missing. She must have accidentally stabbed it onto someone during the struggle. As she stood up, her legs started to shake violently, as impossible that may have sounded, and she felt her arms go numb. She has actually reached her limit.

"Party's over," she spoke, turning towards her companions. "It's time you tell me why you were sent here and what—oh no."

Her eyes widened.

"You were saying, policewoman?" asked Morrigan, as several dozen more agents barreled towards them unrelentingly. Like a herd of wildebeest, the massive army numbered towards the hundreds, all charging towards them like moths to a flame.

"We don't have... time for this," said Chun-Li breathing heavily. As the roars of the agents drowned out the sound of her voice, it failed to overwhelm Chun-Li's thinking. Out of the blue, she turned to Tron and smiled, saying, "Speaking of the time, Tron, do you know what time it is?"

"Uh, _Adventure Time?"_

"Uh, no," replied Chun-Li, looking somewhat confused at the answer.

"Wait, I know this one," said Tron, and she tapped one manicured finger repeatedly on Gustaff's control panel. "...Lunch time?"

"It's lunch time. And do you know what that means?"

And like a lightbulb, Tron's face grew brighter and her expression sparked up. "Time to take the Servbots to lunch?"

"And make their orders super-sized, if you will," added Chun-Li with a huge grin on her face.

Morrigan listened to the two's conversation and wondered out loud, "I'm not sure I'm following this."

Both girls turned to the succubus and said "Trust us!" in unison.

From under her chair, Tron Bonne took out a giant megaphone and headphones that looked like they shouldn't have been able to fit in there. She put the headphones on, and screaming into the megaphone, she shouted, "Servbots! Execute Tactical Offensive codenamed TO-X17 and get in line!"

A small compartment opened behind Gustaff and from it forty small robots, with large black eyes, yellow heads, light blue bodies and pincers for hands, climbed out and formed four rows of ten in front of their mother. The A.I.M. agents stopped in their tracks at this unexpected move and proceeded to walk forward cautiously, while Doom and Wesker ceased their conversation and trained their eyes on this curious endeavor.

"What are they trying to pull?" asked Wesker out loud.

Tron continued to to shout her orders into her megaphone as a giant satellite disk ejected out of Gustaff's back. "Okay, Servbots! Time for lunch!" And with a gleeful cry she concluded with, "Initiate counterattack! _Servbot Takeout: King Servbot Edition!" _in a high-pitched scream.

Without warning, the Servbots grew to giant-size, about ten-feet in height, and suddenly sported humongous toy hammers that made the steel mallets held by the A.I.M. agents look like toothpicks in comparison. All forty King Servbots then barreled down on the A.I.M. agents, like steamrollers, smashing their hammers into the ground, utterly obliterating the army in seconds in the most comical manner imaginable.

Wesker's anger was unspeakable. Seeing grown men and women utterly stomped on by what he perceived as children's playthings fueled his rage, and in his anger he snatched the sunglasses from his eyes and crushed them in one hand.

_"Useless! All of you!" _he shouted at the top of his voice. He himself rushed into the battlefield.

The remaining A.I.M. agents fled like scurrying ants in their desperate attempt to escape from the Servbot onslaught. Chun-Li and Tron could hardly contain their excitement after a successful counterattack. Above them, Morrigan's eyes could not believe the insanity of what she had just witnessed.

"Well," spoke Morrigan, trying to make sense of the situation. "That was certainly... unorthodox."

"You're damn right it was!" cried Chun-Li triumphantly while pumping her fist in the air. "They'll be thinking twice before they try to mess with us again."

"We better search the area for Mr. Wright and Maya now," suggested Tron. But deep inside, all she could think about was how proud she was of her Servbots.

Among other even more important decisions to be made.

"Yeah," agreed Chun-Li. "Let's."

"Perhaps you're forgetting something."

In the blink of an eye, Wesker suddenly appeared between Chun-Li and Tron Bonne, blindsiding them both and backhanding Chun-Li, sending her flying towards the concrete wall of one of the abandoned warehouses. She hit the wall hard and flat on her back. Her body pivoted violently as Wesker appeared in front of her and grabbed her by the collar of her qipao, pinning her to the wall, before anyone else could even react.

"I'm still here," said Wesker, as Chun-Li struggled to grab hold of his arms. His eyes were blood red. "So don't get all comfortable just yet. I'm just getting started."

"Chun-Li!" cried Tron as she rushed forward towards her friend. Just then, a magical blast of electricity hit her straight on, sending her and Gustaff flying off. Both pilot and mecha violently landed face down on the dirt path from which they came from earlier.

"Tron!" shouted Morrigan, as she attempted to fly off after Tron. Before she could even manage, another electric strike blasted her from the sky, and sent her careening down to the ground in smoke, crushing the concrete underneath due to the impact of her fall. As she stood up in the crevice she made in the ground, she saw the armor-clad Doom approach her. Purple energy emanated from his hand as he walked towards her. His stare felt as cold as steel.

"**Face me, succubus**," said Doom.

"You _dare_ challenge a _princess_ of Makai, mortal?" cried Morrigan in anger. Green energy glowed from her clenched fists.

**"A princess, you say? Pathetic. **_**I **_**am the one, true king of Latveria. You are nothing to me,"** replied Doom. His voice was stern, menacing and unfathomably angry. **"Bear this in mind, succubus: the hour of Doom is at hand. And you are its first witness."**

Meanwhile, somewhere, from an unseen vantage point, a white-haired man in a blue coat watched the events unfold silently.

**End of Chapter 4**


	5. Eyes Without a Face

**Turnabout Crossover**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5: Eyes Without a Face<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>The Avenger's Tower doesn't exist in this alternate Earth, but for some reason, the Stark Tower does, and Tony Stark is still how he is known back in their Earth: a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist and CEO of Stark Industries. Except for one startling fact: Iron Man doesn't exist in this world either. Nor does Captain America, with his stars and stripes, fighting Hydra way back in the second World War. He was simply Steve Rogers, a frail young man who worked as a doctor in New York, one who never even saw battle in his whole life. James Howlett was a wealthy 18th century Canadian aristocrat in this universe, not the crazy ol' Canuck we all know and love. Peter Parker is a researcher at Horizon Labs, and sometimes moonlights as a photographer for the Daily Bugle, sending pictures of new scientific discoveries being made at the lab, but sadly no radioactive spider is ever involved in his work.<strong>

There was more. Chris Redfield is a S.T.A.R.S. member in a non-zombified Raccoon City, Bruce Banner is a government scientist who specializes in gamma radiation, his cousin Jennifer Walters is a New York lawyer, Mike Haggar was still once the mayor of Metro City, Morrigan Aensland was a 14th century Scottish noblewoman, Donald Blake and Stephen Strange are normal medical practitioners, Ryu and Akuma are rival Japanese masters of the fighting art of Ansatsuken, no fireballs whatsoever, and so on.

Simply put, in the most understandable way possible, they already had normal civilian identities before our version of them came to this Earth, and before they came, there were no superpowered beings of any kind. None. The revelation startled Stark thoroughly.

"Kind of hard to take in, huh?" asked Tony as the information was shown on-screen. JARVIS as-a-matter-of-factly gave brief summaries of the background research Stark made about their agents over the nine months that passed since they came to this alternate Earth. Every single bit of information, every tiny detail, every trivial statement led to one startling conclusion. "It's like we've _always _been here. But not as we _know _us."

The air-conditioning unit started to kick in when JARVIS noticed the perspiration dripping down both men's faces, and the sudden drop in temperature helped cool off the heat of the moment. It was nearly winter, yet the temperature in Stark's office, which wasn't really an office but a large, private penthouse on the roof of Stark Tower, made it seem as if the cold, December days that they were clamoring for weren't coming anytime soon. It was still a week before Christmas though, and unbeknownst to everyone, Cap included, Stark wanted all of their assignments done by the time Christmas Eve rolls around, so they could at least share Christmas dinner during their first Christmas in a not-so foreign land.

And besides, he'd hate to look like a Scrooge.

The room was large, and was designed in the typical Stark-esque way of interior decorating: there were three pool tables beside a bar table; a large 42-inch television set mounted on one side of the room, a home entertainment system just beneath it, and a wide couch and coffee table in front of it; and a small kitchen on another side, complete with a tall refrigerator, a microwave, and electric stove on top of an oven, a well-stocked pantry, and a case full of knives, spatulas, and other utilities next to the sink. The only feature it had that remotely resembled an office was the desk Tony was sitting at, facing a large, state-of-the-art computer system mounted on the glass wall of the penthouse, the view behind it overlooking the New York skyline.

"Very," Cap agreed to Tony's question, while listening further to JARVIS' briefing. "So I could have been a doctor if I never went on the Super-Soldier program?"

"Hardly the point," said Iron Man. "And to answer your question, yes, you _could_ have, and no, not likely."

"Care to elaborate?" asked Steve, confusion evident on his face.

"Seeing as there are no superpowers of any kind on this Earth, whether scientific, supernatural, otherworldly or otherwise, at least none I know of, I can safely presume that this Earth—no, this whole _universe _didn't exist prior to us coming here. _Yes,_ it _has_ a documented history, and _yes,_ physical evidence _suggests_ that this world and the universe it thrives in _did _manifest itself 40 billion years ago, but," he trailed off, apparently in a state of contemplation. "How do I explain this in a way you'll understand?"

Tony leaned back on his chair and tried to clear his head. After a few seconds of thinking, he stood up and faced Steve.

"Okay," he said, waving one finger around, "picture it like this: this world, no, _this whole universe, _didn't exist prior to us coming here, but it's acting like it's _always been here, _and as what my research can attest, with it having an approximate 40 billion year history, it is _very_ much like _our_ universe. With me so far?"

"I think so," said the good captain, trying his best to keep up with Tony's explanation.

"And along with that, this universe is also trying to imply that _we _have _always_ been here, existed _here_. Don't you find it strange that we have no alternate selves here? Unlike _all_ those other cross-dimensional adventures we've had where there _were_ alternate me's and you's? It's like it's trying to say just that: that we _have always _been here. You know how in _Back to the Future, _Marty McFly goes back to the alternate present that he made and nothing he knew was the same. He was a stranger there, he knew nothing about these people, his family, the new Biff, his new and improved mom and dad, but they act like he's always been there. Like he's always been with them, even though from his perspective he just suddenly popped into the timeline. It's just like us. They're acting as if we were always here."

"Yeah, I think I get what you mean," said Cap.

"_But we aren't. _We _just got here._ So what's the deal? I have a theory, I still don't have rock-solid evidence to prove it, but I think that this universe just started existing _spontaneously,_ like some sort mushroom._ Yes, _its having an approximately _40 billion year_ history and everything else I've just said would be counter-intuitive to my theory, but let me explain it this way—"

"You're starting to confuse me," said Steve, with his eyebrows crossed. "Keep going."

"Okay, like I said, I'll explain it this way: think of the set of all reality like this, uhh, this... room full of dominoes..."

"Dominoes?" Cap raised one eyebrow. "That's the best you could think of?"

"Stay on course, Steve. Okay, try to picture this room full of billions and billions of dominoes, standing upright, in equal distances from each other, carefully organized in even rows and columns. In short, it's an ordered set."

"Okay."

"Now, picture this one domino, suddenly appearing out of thin air, at a random space in the room, let's say in the middle of the set, between two dominoes. Hell, given any coordinate it will most definitely be stuck between two dominoes. Anyway, uh, now, since this domino appeared, it has disrupted the room's organized and well-laid out schematic. Now the dominoes aren't equally spaced anymore, so the room will attempt to accommodate this new domino instead of say, just throwing it away, and to do that it'll have to move _each and every domino_. That's already chaos in itself: imagine moving billions and billions of dominoes a fraction of an inch from each other just to accommodate_one _random domino which came out of literally nowhere, in order to keep an ordered reality."

"I think I get it."

"I'm not done yet: now, here comes the bad part. It would have been sort of okay if this one domino was just like all the others, but _no, it isn't. _This domino is _quite different_ from all the others: it's unstable, it's imbalanced, it's a time bomb waiting to explode, simply because _it was never meant to be there in the first place. _It's a freak of nature in the _purest_ sense of the term. Why is it a bad thing? This domino is _wobbly; _it was poorly made and poorly put in place. It's just _itching _to fall down."

Cap's eyes widened in realization. "And when that domino falls—"

"—When that domino falls," said Stark gravely, "all the others follow. One bad tomato in a basket rots the others, as one unstable universe on the verge of destruction will lead to the destruction of all reality."

Steve took all this in with a grain of salt. It was really hard to swallow, how Tony said that this world was a time bomb of sorts. It was such an unnatural thing to think, that one small occurrence; one, tiny infraction in the set of all reality could easily break it apart.

Tony, on the other hand, stayed silent, trying to let Steve absorb the bulk of what he just said. He knew that it was tremendously hard to take in, and that even after all the weirdness that they've experienced over the years, there are still some things that can legitimately surprise them. Cosmic level threats were one of those things, that's for sure. Looking back at the screen, Tony sorted out the files that he had opened and tried to group them in separate folders accordingly, but found out to his boredom that such a task was too bothersome for him to handle. "Damn, this is too much trouble. I wish Pepper was here."

"Isn't she downstairs, by her desk?" asked Cap as he took a breather from thinking. Beside the penthouse's glass doors was a stairwell that led back into a room inside the building, outside of which, this universe's Virginia Potts was busy analyzing the company's assets.

"Uh, no," remarked Tony. "That's not Pepper, Pepper's back home. That thing is this world's version of Pepper Potts."

"_Thing?_" asked Steve in repulsed tone of voice. "What do you mean by _thing? _Down there is living, breathing human being."

"Yeah, but _she_ and seven billion other people on this Earth, don't exist, have never existed, and will never exist in a stable reality," said Tony rather coldly. "So yes, they're living organisms, _technically speaking,_ but they're also freaks of nature,_ by definition._"

"But they're _human beings. _To call them things, freaks of nature, _even—_"

"They don't matter," said Tony, cluelessly. "What are you getting riled up about?"

"Are you even hearing yourself talk?" asked Steve sternly. He didn't like the way Tony was acting. "You're dismissing those people as if they're not human."

It was like Civil War all over again.

"They _are _human, it's just that they _don't exist," _came the reply. Then perhaps thinking that this could go on forever, he said, "Okay, I know where you're coming from. _Yes,_ it _is_ kind of ethically wrong to call them that but try to think about it rationally, as in, technically, after our whole ordeal here, they'll cease to exist. They won't feel anything, nada, nothing. Just poof, and they're gone. They won't make a difference, Steve."

"But_ still—!_"

"Okay, alright, I get it. Let's have it your way. You know what? Let's forget we ever had _this_ part of the conversation, because it's clearly getting to you." He then leaned back on his chair and began relaying instructions to JARVIS about the investigative team he sent down at the Hudson. After asking his AI assistant to start booting a live feed from the area, he turned to Steve again, and said, "As simple as that."

"What? We _need _to talk about this, Tony. You can't just finish it like tha_—_"

Just then, the door at the far end of the room slid open, and two heroes in red walked in. The bug-eyed, masked man was the first to talk.

"Okay, Tony," he said while cracking his knuckles. "I don't care about anything you want me to fix, we need to talk about her or—oh, hey Cap. Didn't know you were here."

"Peter, nice to see you, son" said Steve, as he raised one hand to greet him. He then turned to the demon hunter beside him and greeted him in a similar fashion. "I heard Zero had a fight with your brother," he told Dante, "says he's an able combatant and that his fighting skills are quite commendable."

"Thanks, Cap," said Dante, as he really didn't know the right thing to say. He didn't know much about Vergil and at the moment, he wasn't sure if he was even concerned about him. He was thinking about him, but he doesn't know if it's concern, or if it's simply because the matter of how he got here was something they needed to know.

_Why he's here, more importantly, and how, _thought the demon hunter.

"So, about her," continued Spider-Man, "because I really don't give a damn about whatever it is you want me to fix and—"

"There's nothing I need you to fix, I just told you that so you'd shut up about that girl," replied Tony nonchalantly. He was busy tapping away at his keyboard to turn around, while a loading bar was slowly filling on the large screen on the wall. "We'll talk about her later, as there are more pressing matters to attend to."

"Excuse me?" exclaimed Spider-Man.

Tony then turned his chair around and faced the two, in the way a Bond villain would, except he didn't have a snow-white cat whose fur he would constantly stroke. You know, like a Bond villain. Wearing a suit of powered armor.

"Okay, I'm gonna brief you on it simply," he said, and turned back to the screen. "So no questions until I finish talking." He then tapped a few keys and a few windows opened on the screen in front of them. The front-most window had a picture of what seemed to be satellite photos taken of warehouses by the edge of the Hudson River.

"We took these photos a few days ago," started Tony. "We've been registering high hyperspatial disturbances in the areas near the Hudson, but it was so spread out that we couldn't pinpoint where exactly they were pulsating from. But then, just the other night, the signals became more precise."

"Then those monster sightings came up," added Cap. Tony then highlighted another window where a video started playing. It showed a large, hulking creature in a trenchcoat walking slowly towards the camera. As the monster raised its arm, a large, tentacle-like appendage shot out from it towards the camera. At that point, Tony paused the video, just as the creature's tentacle reached the camera. "Look closely at the bottom-right corner," said Cap.

Spidey and Dante squinted, and then leaned closer to the screen. "What are we supposed to be looking at?" asked Spider-Man.

Tony then zoomed in on that part of the screen, then instructed JARVIS to increase the video quality. As the image de-pixelated, the silhouettes of what seemed to be three to five men could be seen in the background, running across the screen.

"We have reason to believe that there's an operation going on in that area," explained Tony, "although we aren't sure how big of an operation it is, and whether the big, bad duumvirate themselves are personally overseeing it. The only way to make sure was to send an investigative team there."

"So who did you send?" asked Dante.

"I sent Tron Bonne and Morrigan to investigate," said Tony. "Chun-Li is busy with our new friends Mr. Wright and Maya, so I sent her team without her."

"Wait," said Spider-Man. "You would never have sent Morrigan if you didn't think there was something big going on."

"Actually, I didn't," spoke Tony. "It was just a matter of us becoming short on help these days, and if some of our reserved members aren't doing anything important at the moment, they were liable to be sent on field missions. It just so happened that she was free today."

"There's still the matter of why you people didn't just tell us that over the phone," added Dante.

"Yeah," agreed Spider-Man. "I mean seriously, Tony, that girl might have been an important lead. Now we have to wait until we meet again."

"I know she was important, which is why I had to have you shut up about her."

"Come again?"

"I also have reason to believe that someone has been tapping our conversations over the phone, using a remote device implanted somewhere within the Tower," explained Tony. "As there have been no reports of any sort of a breach in security within the last three months, we're very skeptical of how such a device got here. The device has already been extracted, and I'm examining it right now, to find out where it was manufactured and by whom, and then try to trace back the signal to the original receiver."

"So basically, you think it's an inside job," remarked the demon hunter, as he folded his arms.

"I can't say," said Tony. He then reached under his desk and took out three microphone-like devices, and tossed two towards the two heroes. "In the meantime, take these communicators. I'm not sure if that was the only device implanted here, so while you're out on the field, you'll be using these. They're small enough to fit comfortably on your ear and won't leave a bulk on your mask. I can communicate with you directly using my helmet, adjusted to the correct radio frequency. We need to go old school for now."

Spider-Man then took off his mask, and stuck the communicator onto his ear.

"Where do you need us?" he asked. He then put his masked back on, and tapped the side of his head where the communicator was. "I'm asking because these aren't Christmas gifts, and I know you're trying to set us up somewhere. So where do you need us?"

"I need your team to rendezvous with Tron Bonne and Morrigan into that compound, and provide back-up," said Tony. "I've been trying to contact both of them for about half an hour now, but for some reason, my connection to Gustaff is jammed. These communicators shouldn't have the same problem though."

Just then JARVIS spoke, as the loading bar on-screen reached 100%. _"Sir,"_ he said, _"the live satellite feed has been fully loaded. Shall I play the feed?"_

"Right on time," complimented Tony. "Let's see what we're up against."

The screen then showed live footage of one part of the compound. Here, a large battle seemed to be occurring, and several characters showed up on screen. Like ants in number, there seemed to be several individuals in yellow jumpsuits charging straight towards the left side of the screen. A small group on the left were fending off the attackers.

"That can't be right," remarked Stark. His eyes were on set on a figure on the screen wearing blue, fighting back the horde in yellow jumpsuits. "Tron and Morrigan _and_... Is that _Chun-Li?_ I didn't assign her there."

"There's something else," said Cap, and he pointed to the far right of the feed. There were two individuals standing there as several enemy goons ran past them.

"Wesker and Doom," cracked Tony's voice. "I guess this operation _is_ bigger than I thought." He took his helmet from the desk and put it on. The helmet attached to his armor and clamped down, while the eye sockets of which glowed white. "I guess I'll be coming with you," he said, in a synthesized voice.

_"Sir,"_ suddenly interjected JARVIS, _"there's a call for you. Should I put it on?"_

"Is it from a registered number?" asked Stark as his armor system went online.

_"No, sir," _said JARVIS.

"Then scrap it, we have something _bigger _to deal with right now," said Tony.

_"I believe you would want to answer this, sir," _explained JARVIS. _"I have traced that the call is coming from inside the warehouse compound, from a civilian telecommunications device."_

Inside the compound? Tony was visibly doubtful about the source of the call. How any unregistered contact could have gotten hold of his number was beyond him.

"Put the caller on loudspeaker," said Tony, and JARVIS immediately followed his order.

A short moment later they heard a voice. The signal sounded broken, and the static occasionally overwhelmed the voice of the speaker, but the message he said and his identity was clear to all who heard him.

"_Hello? Hello? Mr. Stark, are you there?_" cried the voice. You can tell there was a hint of fear in the words he spoke.

"Mr. Wright?" asked Spider-Man, as he froze in place. The faulty signal made it harder for them to listen clearly to what he was saying, but the fact that it was undeniably his voice that they were hearing changes everything. The reconnaissance mission has been _thoroughly_ compromised. "Mr. Wright, is that you?"

Tony turned to Spider-Man to confirm what he just said. "Mr. Wright... are you sure that that's Mr. Wright?"

"Ask him yourself," responded Spider-Man, dryly.

"Mr. Wright, what are you _doing _there?" asked Tony sternly, as he tried to mentally analyze the next step they should take.

"_Long story... it's hard to explain. Look... listen, I'm here with Maya—"_

_Great, _thought Spider-Man,_ and there we go breaking our 'everything goes wrong' speed record_. _Yay._

"_—You have to help us. Wesker and Doom are here, and they're fighting Chun-Li and the others outside. I don't know what's happening out there but..._"

"Don't worry, Mr. Wright," assured Tony. He tried to calm Phoenix down the best he could. The last thing they needed was Phoenix being more of a liability than he already was in that situation. Especially since Maya was there with him, and that made things _much _worse. Much, _much worse._ "We'll be there shortly."

_"Get here quickly, plea—" _they heard him say, before the connection was inexplicably cut off. They lingered a little longer to see if it could pick up again, but JARVIS failed to reconnect the transmission.

"What now?" asked Dante. He knew the consequences of not being able to get there as fast as they could.

"Dante, I need you in Devil Trigger mode, we're going to disperse those troops and try to herd them into groups," said Tony, and the demon hunter nodded. He then turned to the webhead and said, "Then we'll drop you and Deadpool to fight them at ground level. Deadpool will stay and hold them off with the others, while you go and track down Mr. Wright and Maya, and extract them. We need to get them out before Wesker and Doom decide to join the fray." Spidey nodded. "Where's Deadpool, by the way?"

"He's downstairs by the vending machines," answered Spider-Man. "Isn't Cap coming with us?"

"I need to stay behind," explained Cap. "Earlier, before you two came, we received word from She-Hulk's team that they're on their way with the latest individual to cross over. They don't seem to be hostile, and they seem to be someone we know. She-Hulk is keeping quiet about though: she thinks it'll be a great surprise."

"Alright, go get Deadpool, and we're gone," said Iron Man, and they proceeded to walk towards the door. Just then, they heard an explosion from downstairs. Smoke came from the stairwell, and from the collected dust and ash, a masked man came up, holding a bag of potato chips.

"Sorry," said Deadpool as everyone glared at him. He then looked at Iron Man's direction, "Your doorman was intimidating."

* * *

><p><strong>He sat there breathing heavily, leaning on the crates that surrounded them in that dimly-lit warehouse. They've been running for a while now, and once they found a secluded hiding spot, Phoenix whipped out his phone, and called the number marked as "Stark." Unfortunately, before he could finish talking to them, his phone somehow died on him, and when it turned on, it had no signal. Something was jamming it.<strong>

"At least they know we're here, right, Nick?" asked an exasperated Maya. She was panting really hard. Beside her, Phoenix slumped down on the floor and tried to coordinate his answer. He was slowly losing focus.

"I hope so," said Phoenix, although he was sure that whoever answered their call, they heard him loud and clear despite the signal disruption. "It's weird though, something seems to be jamming the signal. I can't make another call."

Suddenly they heard footsteps, and both Maya and Phoenix fell quiet. They were loud, heavy footsteps, and it didn't _sound _like anything a normal man could make, unless he was 500 pounds heavier than average. Just then, the footsteps stopped, and seemed to fade away. Maya gave a loud sigh.

They then heard voices, conversing, somewhere deeper inside the warehouse. Against all notion of what was the most practical and logical thing to do, Phoenix crouched down and listened closer to the voices. They seemed tense, and the importance of what they were discussing was revealed the moment Phoenix started eavesdropping. He proceeded to move closer, and against his instinct to survive all possible near-death encounters he might face that day, he stood up slightly, and walked closer to the source of the voices.

"Nick," whispered a concerned Maya, "where do you think you're going?"

"Just stay there," reprimanded Phoenix, and he continued to inch away from her. "I need to find out what they're talking about, it might be a step closer to getting us home. Just lay low, keep your head down, and do your best not to get dragged off somewhere."

"But Nick, we just got here," said Maya. "And whaddaya mean 'do my best not to get dragged off somewhere'?"

"Just do your best not to get kidnapped," said Phoenix in a deadpan tone. "Anyway, by the look of how a lot of things turned out today, going home might not be a bad idea after all. Now just lay low and stay there. I'll be back."

"Nick," moaned Maya quietly, "be careful, you hear me?"

"Of course," he told her, and he disappeared into the jungle of crates and boxes. "Try not to get caught," she heard him say again just before he left her completely.

Phoenix maneuvered himself between giant stacks of crates and boxes, and through shelves filled with all kinds of dusty and rusting equipment, as he made his way as stealthily as he could to the source of the voices. From behind a steel shelf, Phoenix peeked through the gaps between the shelves and saw an unusual sight. Hidden from view, there was small area, a room if you could call it that, bordered by high shelves on all sides.

"...But mistress, we need to go! Now!" pleaded a man in a yellow jumpsuit, the same one worn by the goons outside. There were two of them, although the second was significantly smaller in build than the first, who was speaking to a blonde woman wearing a tight, black catsuit, and holding a clipboard in one hand. Nearby were several tables littered with documents and lab equipment, while graphs and charts of all sorts scattered around that space. But something else caught Wright's attention.

"We need more time, Robert," responded the blonde woman, as she examined a chart displayed on a computer that was connected with bundles of thick wire and cables to a large, swirling purple vortex that floated in mid-air in the middle of the room. There were a lot of other large machines there that Phoenix thought wouldn't look out of place in Dr. Frankenstein's laboratory, if he lived in the 21st Century, that is. And all these equipment were connected to a giant machine that was somehow encasing the vortex.

"But mistress," argued the jumpsuit-wearing man once more, "Master Wesker and Master Doom are already fighting with the intruders outside. All the men have been beaten, and the rest of our troops have been chased off. We need to get out of here before the enemy is able to call for reinforcements."

The woman sighed. She tossed her clipboard over the table and capped her pen. "Fine. Call the Nemesis from the supply room so we can clean up here. The analysis will be done in about two minutes, anyway."

Just then, Phoenix heard footsteps coming closer from across that secluded area, which was followed by muffled screams from someone he _hoped _to God wasn't who he thought it was.

_Dammit, _thought Phoenix to himself, _I can't even leave her for five minutes before someone finds her and holds her hostage. Well, I kinda expected this would happen. Which is kinda depressing._

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a large, monstrous man-like being come out of the shadows. It was huge, about seven to eight feet tall, and combined with its hideously scarred face and wide, gaping mouth, it was a very intimidating and frightening sight to behold. Dressed in a long, black trenchcoat, it walked across the room in huge strides, and the sound of its footsteps reverberated throughout the warehouse.

_Wait a minute, _thought Phoenix, _that's the monster from the footage they showed on the news this morning. And—_

In its arms, the monster carried a struggling Maya. Tentacle-like appendages bound her arms and her legs, as well as covered her mouth to keep her from screaming. As the monster came into the room, the blonde woman approached it.

"Well, well," she spoke, smiling constantly, "what do we have here?"

The monster lowered the tentacle covering Maya's mouth to let her talk. As expected, she screamed as soon as she could.

"Let me go!" she shouted, struggling out of the monster's grasp. "Let me go, or so help me, I'll... I'll..."

The blonde woman put one finger on Maya's mouth, quieting her shrieks. "There, there," she said. Her tone was almost calming, given the situation, "Hush, dear. We won't hurt you." She then put both of her hands on her hips and said, "Now, what are you doing here?"

"Mistress!" blurted out the smaller of the A.I.M. agents, in a voice that was distinctly female. "She's with the intruders! The first reason we're here was because we were tasked by Master Wesker to find her and a spiky-haired man in a blue suit!"

_Is my hair really THAT spiky? _thought Phoenix.

"An intruder?" asked the woman in surprise. "Hmm, but a cute girl like her, an intruder... I wanted to keep her as a pet."

"_Excuse me?_" exclaimed Maya.

"And she'll be of no use to me dead, so," continued the woman. She then turned to her minion and said, "Perhaps I'll ask Wesker to use her as a guinea pig for an experiment." The blonde woman then cupped Maya's chin and examined her face, as the young spirit channeler trembled in fear. "Yes, you'll do quite nicely as a test subject."

"Actually," said the female minion, "Master Wesker suggested the same thing."

"Well, that settles it then," said the woman. She called for both of her henchmen to come forward and told them, "Alice, Robert, keep an eye on her while I take the Nemesis to the harbor and get our helicopter ready."

The monster let go of Maya, and the two mooks dragged her towards the table and tied her to one of its legs, despite her constant shouting and struggling.

"Let go of me! Let go or so help me if Nick finds me here, you guys will be _sorry_ you tied_—mphf uhmphf!"_

Robert gagged her with a piece of cloth after tying her down, effectively sealing her mouth.

"That ought to teach her," he remarked.

The blonde woman and the monster went on their way, leaving the two agents standing guard. Between them, a helpless Maya knelt on the floor with her mouth covered and her hands tied behind her. As soon as the coast was clear, Phoenix began devising a plan.

_I need to get Maya out of there, _he thought. _They both have weapons, an electric baton and what looks to be some sort of giant hammer-thing, so fighting them head on would be a one way trip to pain. And pain equals bad. Distracting them would be my first objective, and taking them on their lonesome would be a real good advantage._

He observed the room and looked around to imprint its features in his head, and then began devising his strategy.

_Okay, that could work. I only have one shot at this though, so it's all or nothing. Now, to find a weapon._

Phoenix scanned the dust-filled shelves as quietly as he could to not arouse suspicion, but inside the boxes full of paper and office supplies, he couldn't find anything that could warrant as something he could defend himself with.

_Damn, there's nothing useful here._

He then searched his pockets, and felt a bulge in his coat. Reaching into it, he produced a piece of garment.

_My tie? I forgot I put in in my pocket. Hmm, it could work. Well, now or_ never.

Taking a stapler from a box filled with office supplies, Phoenix threw it as far as he could in the direction away from the room. The darkness hid the object's flight from sight, but the sound it generated when it hit the floor aroused the guards' suspicion.

"What was that?" asked Robert.

"I don't know," answered the female minion, obviously Alice. "Go check it out."

"_Why me?_ You have a shock stick, all I've got is this hammer," argued the former, presenting his weapon.

"Well, yours is better at bashing stuff," responded his companion. "Remember that blonde guy a few months ago at the lab? The one that could fly, talked like some sorta Shakespearian actor, and used that really big hammer?"

"_Fought? _He wiped the floor with us, he did!"

"_Exactly. _Now go out there and kick ass."

Robert gulped audibly. "Well... if you say so." He then proceeded to walk out of the room, leaving Alice behind with Maya.

_Okay, _thought Phoenix. _Now, uh, wait... what was the point of that? _Phoenix looked around him for a place that he can come into from. _Well, since it's an open area I could always come in through the back. But I have to do it as quiet as_ _poss—_

"Dirtbag! Hey, I'm talking to you! Let me go! And here I was thinking girls should help each other!"

"What the_—_?" Looking down, the minion named Alice saw Maya struggling to undo her binds, while berating her non-stop as her mouthpiece hung untied from her neck. "Hey! How the _heck_ did you untie that?"

_Maya... could you have at least waited until you were free before you bad-mouthed her?_

Alice knelt down on the floor in front of Maya and, tossing her baton to the side, began reinforcing Maya's restraints, starting with her mouth.

"You're a real loudmouth, aren't you?" she said, as she covered Maya's mouth with a piece of cloth. "Look, I don't like doing this, but after graduation there wasn't a lot of options I could choose from given the recession. I just do this on my off hours, you know. Maybe if we could have met in another life, we could have been the best of friends, but that life isn't this one so sorry about that."

_Heh. Maybe they're not all bad. And here I was thinking they're all just a bunch of savages in Hazmat suits._

_Wait,_ thought Phoenix. _This is my chance!_

Quietly, Phoenix sneaked out of his hiding place, holding his tie in one hand, and began creeping up on the unsuspecting woman. As soon as he came into the light, Maya's eyes glowed, and in her excitement, she accidentally headbutted her captor, as she was about to re-tie her arms.

Alice clutched her forehead with a wince and said, "What the hell was that for?" Looking at Maya, to Alice's confusion, she found her staring at something or _someone _behind her, and smiling. "Oh crap."

Phoenix lunged at the woman and wrapped his neck tie around her neck, tackling her to the floor, pulling her away from her weapon. With Phoenix behind him, Alice elbowed her attacker repeatedly on the side, and attempted to shake him off him as she tried to grab the noose around her neck, but Phoenix was relentless, and took every one of the her blows.

"Maya... a little help here," winced Phoenix, as Alice reached backwards, trying to grab him.

Maya, standing up, pulled the gag from her mouth and cried, "I'm coming, Nick!"

Unwittingly, in her haste to assist him she tripped over her restraints on the floor, and launched herself towards them, landing face-first onto the woman's head, knocking her out.

Maya then sat up, with tears in her eyes, as she covered her face. "That hurt..."

Phoenix pushed the unconscious woman aside and sat beside Maya. He then smacked her on the back the head with his tie.

"Ow!" she exclaimed. She turned to look at him, teary-eyed and said, "What did you do that for, Nick?"

"Don't... ever," he started, panting hard as he spoke, "scare me... like that... again." He then patted her on the head, and she smiled.

"I'm sorry, Nick... I just..." Her voice trailed off as they heard someone shout out from the dark recesses of the warehouse. It seemed that the other man had heard the conflict and was now returning to check on his partner.

"Hey, Alice!" shouted the man in the darkness. His footsteps sounded awfully close. "Hey, Alice! Sweetie! What's going on back there?"

Phoenix quickly scanned the room for a place to hide in. Shelves, cardboard boxes, study tables, that giant, swirling vortex, those huge, technical looking equipment all crowded that small secluded part of the warehouse.

"Nick," whispered Maya, pointing at a corner of the room. "Let's hide behind that ladder!"

"Maya, that's a _step_ladder," corrected Phoenix as he looked at the piece of construction equipment. It was a very tall, steel stepladder.

"What's the difference?" asked Maya. "They're basically the same, right?"

"It's a much more complex piece of machinery, you know? It's like two ladders stuck together."

"...So you admit that basically it's a ladder, right, Nick?"

"Wait, huh?"

"You have to look past the form... at the essence of the thing, Nick!"

"Okay... but, I still say it's a stepladder. Is that so wrong?"

"No, but... hey, why do you like stepladders so much, anyway?"

"Well, they're so much more flexible than plain old ladders, anyhow."

"I remember one time, when Detective Gumshoe was telling me the story of how he went to a vegetable store near his place, he said the vegetable store guy was like you, always picking on the smallest details. He said he even corrected him when he asked for a head of lettuce. 'That's a cabbage,' the guy said. Then Detective Gumshoe was all, 'I'm telling you, they're the exact same thing, pal!' "

"He told me that same story before and I'm telling you they're not the same thing."

"You have to plant both of them firmly in the ground before they can grow, don't you? Well, he told me, 'Listen. You gotta take a step back and look at the bigger picture sometimes. Otherwise you could miss a really important clue. That's advice from a pro, pal!' You should listen to him, Nick!"

_The last person I'll need advice from are Gumshoe and you, _thought Phoenix. Just then the man called out again.

"Can we talk about something else?" whispered Phoenix. "Hide behind that ladder, and I'll hide behind one of these desks."

Maya quickly dashed towards and hid behind the dusty, steel ladder as Phoenix jumped on the desk and deftly slid towards the other side, hiding beneath it. Just then the man came into view of the room. Noticing his unconscious comrade, he armed himself with his weapon and looked around, trying to spot an ambush.

"I know you're in here," he spoke out loud. "Wherever you are, you ain't gonna get me, you hear?"

Suddenly, he heard a sneeze coming from one of the dark corners of the room. It seemed like the dust bunnies got the better of Maya. The man walked closer to the area, with his hammer in his grasp, taunting what he thought was his would-be assailant. "I know where you are, you hear me? You don't scare me. I've got a hammer."

_I've got to think fast, _thought Phoenix.

As the man had his back to him, and was on his way to Maya's hiding place, Phoenix grabbed the first thing he could find on the desk above him and conceded to use whatever it is as a weapon. And the first thing he had in his hand as stood up was a really thick binder. "Oh boy..."

The man in yellow quickly turned around when he heard a ruckus, and saw Phoenix standing a few feet behind him with the binder in his hands. "There you are!" The man quickly charged at him, weapon in hand.

Surprising even himself with his speed, Phoenix deftly dodged the hammer as it swung sidewards, and without missing a beat, bashed the binder against the underside of Robert's chin. The man fell on the floor, seemingly knocked out, leaving Phoenix in disbelief on whether that really happened.

Maya, wiping her nose, came out of her hiding place, running towards Phoenix . "Nick, that was awesome!"

She found Phoenix hunched over the desk, scanning all the files laid out on the table seemingly looking for something. "Nick, what are you looking for?"

"They were doing something here, with that port_—er, hyperdimensional gateway," _explained Phoenix, without averting his gaze from the documents. "I want to know what. Maya, would you mind collecting the papers on the_—_no, wait, never mind."

He raised a folder from the mess of documents on the desk and took out the contents, studying it carefully. Maya leaned over towards the table, checking what the fuss was about. She read what was written on the cover.

**Project: Eyes Without a Face **it said on the cover of the folder, written in bold, black font. And on the computer screen beside them, the words, "Analysis Completed" appeared.

* * *

><p><strong>Just ten minutes later, Iron Man, with Spider-Man clinging onto his back, soared through the skies of New York City, along with Dante in Devil Trigger form carrying an airsick Deadpool, in a desperate attempt to rescue their teammates from an unwarranted assault. As they neared the abandoned compound, to their horror, they were already too late. Morrigan was desperately fighting off Dr. Doom, after his blindsiding her earlier left her disoriented and unable to deftly maneuver herself in the air. On the side, Wesker had a struggling Chun-Li on the ropes, wiping the floor with her, then ultimately pinning her down on the wall of a warehouse. Several feet from the two, an unconscious Tron laid on the dirt beside Gustaff, while her Servbots soldiered on in fighting back the A.I.M. agents, unaware of what has happened to their mother.<strong>

"This is worse than I thought," gasped Tony. Analyzing the situation, he spoke, "Spider-Man," he said to the arachnid clinging onto his armor, "those two's involvement changes the playing field drastically. I need you to assist Chun-Li and get her to safety, engage Wesker if you need to, but your primary objective is to keep her out of the battlefield."

He turned to Dante, who was holding the merc with the mouth and said, "Dante, you and Morrigan tag-team in engaging Doom; if I'm right, that's most likely a Doombot and you two should have no problem with it, but in the slightest chance that I'm wrong, hold the line until we can extract everyone. I'm going to take Tron and Gustaff out of here, then join you." The demon hunter nodded. "Deadpool," then said Iron Man, "scout the area, then extract Maya and Mr. Wright. Take out any A.I.M. goons if you want to."

"Alright!" cried Deadpool in absolute glee, with a sing-song tune. "It's fighty time! Fighty time! Blood, _blood, __**blood!**_"

"Move it!" shouted Iron Man.

Dante and and Deadpool swooped down and headed straight towards Morrigan and Doom. The demon hunter blasted Doom away before he could deal another blow to the succubus, while Deadpool leaped to the side as they closed in to ground-level, landing on top of a warehouse. Smashing a part of the roof down, he disappeared into the hole he made.

"Alright," said Iron Man, "our turn."

"Hey, Tony," said Spider-Man, "on second thought, how great is your fastball?"

Meanwhile, on the ground, Wesker had a bloodied Chun-Li backed against the wall, strangling her as she tried to struggle to get out of his grasp. Unfortunately, she was severely weakened to the point that she could barely lift her arms, let alone break herself free from Wesker's clutches.

"Struggle all you want, insect," spoke Wesker, smiling. "There's nothing more you can do to save yourself."

Chun-Li was breathing heavily, as warm blood dripped from her forehead. As if by instinct, she looked up, and from the desperate gasps she made her mouth curved into a smile.

"You smile in the face of your demise. Have you finally become resigned to your fate?" asked Wesker in a sadistic tone of voice. "Any last words before I crush your windpipe like a popsicle stick?"

"Yeah," said Chun-Li, out of breath, her voice cracking a bit. There was something rewarding in her expression, and Wesker failed to realize just what she was smiling about. "Look out... here comes... the Spider-Man..."

By the time Wesker thought to turn his head, he received a double-fisted smash to the head from a Spider-Man propelled at near-Mach speed, rocking his cranium and sending him tumbling down the dirt road. As he looked up to see the source of his humiliation, blood dripping from his mouth, he saw a figure he loathed with much passion, catching his victim as she fell and propping her up.

"_Spider-Man,_" Wesker could only growl between gnashed teeth, as Spider-Man picked up and carried a bruised and worn-out Chun-Li in his arms.

Chun-Li breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of her savior. Her smile could hardly describe how she felt at the moment. "Peter," she said in between gasps of air, "I thought... you'd never... come."

"Don't worry, Chun," he whispered. "We got this."

"_Spider-Man," _growled the leather-coated man once more as he picked himself up. _This time, _he thought to himself, _this time you're mine, arachnid._

Spider-Man noticed him as he proceeded to stand up and greeted him in mock cheerfulness. "Hey there, Albert," said the arachnid as he laid eyes on his nemesis for about the first time in weeks. "Missed me, much?"

Somewhere, from an unseen vantage point, a white-haired man in a blue coat and with him, a large being with a flaming head stood silently on the sidelines. They both observed the events unfold quietly.

**End of Chapter 5**


	6. Of Mercenaries and Moles

**Turnabout Crossover**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6: Of Mercenaries and Moles<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>"Wait, I know it's in here somewhere."<strong>

Standing in the middle of the dust-ridden and dimly-lit corridors of that abandoned, empty shell of a warehouse, the masked mercenary Deadpool, known as Wade Wilson to his friends, enemies, grade school Math teachers and Weapon X scientists, shuffled through his numerous pockets and pouches repeatedly, actively searching for a flashlight that he was never sure he had packed, much to his consternation.

"For the love God, I will hunt you down, Liefield, and I will make you kiss my ass. I swear it on Joss Whedon's beard! I _swear _it!" he screamed towards the heavens. Outside, giant, black masses of clouds accumulated in the sky, almost instantly, swallowing the sun in a sea of gray. The air smelled of the faint hint of rain, as the room became darker still, and the windows blurred from the fog that had built up rather quickly.

"Found it!" he shouted once more. Turning the flashlight on, he found himself in a dark corridor filled with cobwebs and swimming in dust bunnies. Looking around, he turned his head upwards and spoke aloud.

"Hey-a, true believers! Yeah, I'm talking to _you, _reader. You _lucky, lucky _nerd, _you! _You finally got a chapter that focused on _me, _the world's awesomest, sexiest and most badass mercenary _ever! _I mean, six chapters before I got a spotlight? _What the hell, author? _Why the_ hell_ are you withholding from these guys the_ glory _that is_ Wade W. Wilson? _In fact, you should have made _me_ protagonist from the start, not Nicky! He's a lawyer! Do you _know_ how many lawyers there are in hell? _A lot._ I should know, I've _been_ there!

_"Anyway, _you might be thinking, _'What the hell is he doing? He's supposed to be looking for Nick and Maya!' _Well, hold on to your panties fanboys and fangirls, we'll get there no sweat. I read the script, I know my cue. Yeah, so, like, anyway, I'd like to thank everyone for giving me the chance to showcase my badassery before Logan was even _mentioned_ in this story. _HA-HA! Suck it, Wolverine!"_

Understandably, Deadpool was outraged when he found out that Wolverine actually has been mentioned before.

"...Whoa, okay. Not really. I mean, why the_ hell_ would I break a_ fingernail_ over Logan getting offhandedly mentioned in a throwaway gag. Seriously, I may be a crazy, gun-toting, psychotic lunatic, but I'm a pretty laid-back crazy, gun-toting, psychotic lunatic. I don't go _mental_ over a pretty minor, trivial thing like that. I'm a pretty cool guy, and you people should know that, especially since you're all my loyal-but-still-weaker-than-me fans. And no, it's not a choice. Any human that was ever born _ever _is my fan by default. Chew on that, Ryan Reynolds! Anyways, I may be a insane, but I'm also a pretty cool guy.

"Unlike that _Dante. _Seriously, how _old_ is that guy? _60? 75? 705?_ And what's with that sword length, is he compensating for something or _what?_ And the fact that he _dares_ question my status as most _badass_ and _sexiest_ mercenary alive. He's _almost_ as bad as_ Logan. _In fact, I'd be hooking up right now with most of the ladies in the roster if it wasn't for them. And Tony. And Peter. Yeah, I'd be getting it on with all three Darkstalkers girls right now if it wasn't for those four.

"...And I'd like to apologize for the possibility of you being psychologically scarred for life from having the mental image of me shanking all three Darkstalkers girls all at once forming in your minds. I mean, it looks good when I think about it, but I don't know about you guys, and considering how such a nice person I am to my loyal-but-still-weaker-than-me fans, I'd like to apologize for the possible thought of me doing Morrigan, Felicia, and Hsien-Ko at the same time that you're having right now.

"... Again, let me apologize for that scarring mental image forming in the back of your minds. I would also like to—wait, you know what? Screw it. Let's just go back to the story. Oh, wait. Before that:"

**Disclaimer: **The author would like to apologize for all the crude and absurd humor Deadpool has instigated, and will continue to instigate in the remainder of this chapter. Also, the author would also like to point out that whatever meta opinion Deadpool has stated, and will continue to state in this chapter and the chapters that will follow concerning several of the heroes and/or villains in the story, does not reflect the personal opinion of the author. Thank you for—

"Okay! Now that we have that settled with, if any of you have a lawsuit you want to settle with me, we can discuss it later after I find my lawyer."

Unbeknownst to Deadpool, Wright was a defense attorney.

"So? A lawyer's a lawyer. What's the difference?"

As he navigated the dark, claustrophobic corridors of that maze-like establishment, he heard footsteps coming from behind him, quickly followed by the sound of two clicks. Turning around, he came face-to-face with the barrels of two guns shoved in front of him, held by a familiar blonde-haired woman wearing a skintight catsuit. Deadpool loudly greeted her, like how an aunt would greet a visiting nephew, which almost always bordered on shouting. But without the cheek-pinching part. Thank God for that.

"Well, if it isn't the master of unlocking herself! How's the gig? You seem like you're doing pretty well, Jillie, whatever it is the right hand men of psychotic megalomaniacs do," he spoke. "You come here often?"

"Nice to see you, too, Wade. Funny bumping into you here. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that I'm right about suspecting it was you when I heard someone who sounded like they were talking to themselves," greeted back Jill. "I can never forget your voice. For so many sleepless nights, I could somehow hear you talking in my head."

"Are you sure it was all in your head?" asked Deadpool, walking towards her. "We were only one room apart back when we were partners. You probably heard me—"

"Not another step," warned Jill, reinforcing her firearms towards Deadpool's head. "I'm glad to see you and all, but you're a mercenary, Wade. You give your services to the highest bidder, and for that, I still don't trust you entirely."

"What's with the hostility? Guy does one, lousy job for a sunglasses wearing, bad one-liner spouting, weirdo in a trenchcoat, and his metallic diaper wearing partner in a skirt, and he doesn't hear the end of it. A man's gotta eat, you know. And how did you expect me to pay for my Aunt Gertrude's medical bills?"

_"One, _lousy job? Newsflash, Wade. You worked for Wesker and Doom for five months _knowingly. _You helped them steal the schematics to upgrade the M-Class Sentinels. You stole an experimental biochemical gene enhancer from Horizon Labs. You took down five police cars, injured a dozen officers, and sent dozens of civilians to the hospital during a riot at Wall Street against A.I.M. _And_ you _don't_ have an Aunt Gertude."

"Come on," argued Deadpool. _"We _did that stuff together! We were partners only three months ago."

"I was _brainwashed, _remember? You loony," replied Jill, her hand firmly gripped on her guns. "You _chose _to help those two _criminals _in furthering their plans. _For money."_

"How was _I_ supposed to know they were planning on world domination?" asked Deadpool defiantly. "And hey, I'm the one who broke you out of that brain washing wamajama, remember?"

"And I guess I should thank you for that," agreed Jill, lowering her weapons. "Still, I haven't the slightest clue why _I _was the one Mr. Stark chose to leave behind to infiltrate A.I.M. and Umbrella as an agent, while you get to go do hero work."

"Touchy. Hey, if you're that pissed off about, I could give you discount coupons at Wal-Mart. They're having a sale on waffle irons today, I thought you might want to know."

Jill gave out a loud sigh before reholstering their guns. "Anyway, if you're here, then that must mean that Mr. Stark's reinforcements have arrived."

"Really?" asked Deadpool. "'Cause I thought the really loud explosions and gunfire outside would have clued you in. Unless you do that kind of thing here all time, which makes me kinda regret leaving."

"Look," started Jill, obviously annoyed by Deadpool's constant chatter, "just tell me why you're here, and what you need, so you can leave already."

"I'm looking for a lawyer."

"You finally got arrested for strangling that guy in a Santa outfit with barbed wire?"

"What? No, of course not. Not yet, anyway. Besides that was a routine assignment. I told you that already." responded Deadpool.

"Yeah, I think I vaguely remember you saying that," remarked Jill exasperatedly. In their time as partners, Deadpool had told her a lot of stories that don't make sense. This was just one of many, and was one of the few that she kind of understood. That is to say, the rest of his stories just seemed to be composed of random gibberish and non-sequiturs. "Who are you looking for again?"

"He's a crossover guy. Blue coat, spiky hair, shouts and points his finger at people a lot. Almost always with this girl wearing sandals, a black t-shirt, hair in a knot. I was wondering if they happened to pass by here."

"A girl with her hair in a knot, you say?" asked Jill, eyes wide open. "Oh, uh, I think she's the one I left tied up at the room where we're testing the gateway."

"Wow, never knew you were into bondage—_ow!"_

Jill shook her hand after leaving a bruise on Deadpool's face. "Sometimes you go _way_ overboard with these jokes," said Jill, as she proceeded to walk through the labyrinth-like hallways of the building. "Are you coming or what?"

"You going all tsundere on me now, Jilliams? Just because I have a super awesome healing factor doesn't mean it doesn't hurt," complained Deadpool, as he followed Valentine throughout that cold and desolate place. Outside, it continued to rain.

Observing his surroundings, he analyzed each and every area they encountered, mentally putting into account all that he saw, as he followed the lithe figure guiding him. Together they made their way past corridors filled with cobwebs and dust, discarded soda cans and vandalized walls as they tried to reach the end of the hall.

"You guys _really _need to get a maid," remarked Deadpool, as he brushed off the spider webs clinging onto his shoulder. "Because, seriously, this reminds me of the time I went visiting my Aunt Gertrude's place in the Bahamas, and boy I'll tell you, that was—"

"For the last time, Wade, you _don't _have an Aunt Gertrude!"

"Oh, okay. So you think you know my imaginary family better than me now, huh, Jillie? Is that it?"

"Oh, God," muttered Jill, as she let out another loud sigh. "Now I remember why I hated being with you. Do you ever shut up?"

"Sorry," Deadpool answered defiantly, "but my fans expect a certain amount of quippage in every whacked-out storyline I'm featured in."

He turned towards the ceiling and winked.

A white, rectangular thought bubble with a Cambria font suddenly appeared above Deadpool's head. _You stole that joke from The Spectacular Spider-Man, _it thought.

A second, yellow, rectangular thought bubble typed in bold then appeared just as suddenly, thinking, _Hey, as long as it isn't nailed down to a copyright, it's free for the taking!_

_A little more originality would have been better appreciated._

_Yeah, well, says you. You're always like this. Weirdo._

_How so?_

_Like, remember that time when we had to retrieve the evil toaster and the cursed teapot from Washington after we promised—_

_You know we promised never to speak of that._

_But—_

_No,_ the white thought bubble thought firmly._ Never again._

_You're no fun._

_Well, you're no genius, but I still put with you._

_...Did you just diss myself. I mean, did you just diss yourself. Us. We. Yourself and me. Diss ourselves. Myselves. Huh?_

_And this surprises you how? I mean, me? Us. We. Yourselves. Uh..._

"We're here," spoke Jill, as they came across a large, steel door at the end of the hallway. Painted dark red, the door looked pretty sturdy, quite in contrast to the abandoned ancientness of the warehouse. As Jill turned its door handle, the lock clicked and swung open, revealing a set of stairs leading downwards.

"Are we on the island of Dr. Moreau?" asked Deadpool.

"How so? I didn't get the reference."

"Yeah, me neither. I never saw the movie."

"I read the book, and I still don't know what the hell you're saying."

Grabbing the flashlight from Deadpool's hands, she proceeded to walk down the rusted and creaking staircase, followed by the talkative loon of a mercenary just right behind her. Reaching the foot of the staircase, Jill felt the walls for the light switch. Turning it on, the place became illuminated with light, revealing a network of tunnels in front of them stretching throughout the entire compound. Although plainly painted and tiled, the corridors below were much cleaner than the ones above them, and Deadpool felt the need to ask about that, for some reason.

"We built the tunnels only recently, so we wouldn't get caught on satellite when we moved equipment from warehouse to warehouse," explained Jill. "No one knew we were here, for days. Well, that is until some guy with a camera managed to stumble onto our nightly operations and caught a glimpse of our men. He's lucky I was there at the time, or else no one would have stopped the Nemesis from tearing him to pieces."

"What are you guys up to here, anyway?" asked Deadpool. "The only other guy I know with warehouse fetish is Jigsaw."

"The puppet?" asked Jill.

"No, the Punisher's psychotic, disfigured archnemesis," answered Deadpool. Then after an awkward pause, he continued, "No, of course the puppet! Or was it the guy on the floor? What was his name again? Kramer?"

"I never really liked those movies," commented Jill. "I mean, the first was good, the second and third were okay, and everything afterwards were pretty meh."

And the only reason Jill even got to watching them was because she lost a bet. The circumstances surrounding it were unknown, or with whom she made it, and it has been a lingering mystery to everyone at the Tower when and where this happened.

Not even Chris knows. It's implied that not even Jill knows, but whether she's simply faking or that she sincerely can't remember has been a point of debate. One thing was certain though: Jill wasn't going to talk about it, no matter how nicely she was asked.

"Like I said, what're you guys doing here?"

"When the gateway opened, we were sure that someone had to come out of it," said Jill. "We were able to intercept the location and jam any signal that could have let you guys track this place down before us. We tried to trace whoever crossed over, but we found out that no one did. This gateway was different."

"Why is that?" asked Deadpool, munching on a box of buttered popcorn.

"First of all, it didn't last hours, it lasted _days. _Every other gateway we've encountered only lasted a few hours after spitting someone out. This one not only _didn't _spit someone out, but it lasted longer exponentially." They turned right three intersections in.

"Go on," mumbled Deadpool, as he stuffed his face with a hotdog he most certainly procured from somewhere that was without a doubt unsanitary.

"Secondly, most of the gateways are composed of red, spiraling energy spinning counter-clockwise. This one is not only emanating _purple_ energy, but it spins in a clockwise direction." They turned left at the first intersection.

"Anything else?" asked Deadpool, eating a turkey sandwich.

"The last one is the most important fact. Doom has theorized that this gateway differs significantly from the others in another factor. He calls it an _interdimensional _gateway, instead of _hyperdimensional_. From my findings, I found out that he's right. No one comes out of it because it's _not _a _sender._ It's a _receiver. _Hyperdimensional gateways _break_ through the barrier between universes, absorbing what they take from our universes and then dumping them here. Interdimensional gateways, on the other hand, are quite different. They _slide_ through the creases between universes, and act like a depot where _we_ can dump something from this amalgamation of universes into our real universes. Plus, the difference between the ways they bore through universes explain the length of time that they exist before dissipating." They turned right once more after passing through twelve intersections.

"Do you have some sort recorder or something, 'cause I won't be able to remember all of that."

"It's all in my report," responded Jill. "Please give it to Mr. Stark later." Just then, Jill contemplated saying something else, and added, "And I should let you guys know that my full report on Project C70-N3 is complete. I should probably hand it to you as well. It's... not very pretty."

"What did you expect? Ol' Albert's gonna make an army out of cute puppies or something?"

"No, but..."

At the end of the hallway was another steel door at the top of a set of stairs. As soon as they reached it, Jill pushed the door open and it creaked ever so slightly. They found themselves in another warehouse, as dark and musky as the one they had come from. A dozen lamps swung overhead: half of them were worn out, and four flickered endlessly, leaving two lamps to provide what little light they could offer to the dreary establishment.

The rain was pouring louder now, making the kind of sound akin to a thousand bullets showering the dirt road outside. Looking around, Jill started to make her way towards the other end of the warehouse, followed by Deadpool. After a minute or two of walking, with Deadpool humming to himself—

_Nana-nana-nana-nana, Batman~_

—they came across a small room, with the door slightly ajar.

"Stay here, Wade," ordered Jill. "I need to get my assistants out of there first before we go get your friend."

"Aw. Can't I just shoot them instead of—_ow!"_

Jill shook her hand after it made contact with the other side of Deadpool's face. "No black comedy jokes either. I hate those."

"I wasn't joking, y'know?"

Opening the door, Jill called out her assistants. "Bob? Alice? I'm back now, you can—oh." On the ground near her desk, her two henchmen lay unconscious, seemingly knocked out cold. "I've got a bad feeling," she muttered, coming inside.

Just then, a voice shouted, "Now Nick!"

All of a sudden, a blue-suited man with a giant hammer came charging towards Jill from the side. As he swung his hammer forward, Jill caught the handle, and with flick of her wrist, she disarmed the man completely. Disoriented, she tripped the man with a sweep, and jumped onto him, landing on his back as the man fell flat on the floor.

"Let go of me!" demanded the man, as Jill had him pinned.

All of a sudden, a girl in a black shirt crept up behind her, and tackled her forward. Being naturally stonger than Maya, Jill overcame her attacker and threw her forward beside the man, pinning them by the collar of their clothes before kneeling on them both. The girl started to cry.

"I don't want to die, Nick! I don't want to die!" cried Maya.

"I said let go of us!" shouted Phoenix, and Jill struggled to keep him down. He was a lot stronger than he looked.

"Wade, come in here!" shouted Jill. "Control your friends!"

The door then swung open, and with a smile on his face—as the smile was clearly showing through the mask—Deadpool came in, waving a piece of paper around. "Look, Nicky! Here, Nicky! Look," he shouted happily. "Look here, Nicky! I've got a subpoena for you! Fetch the subpoena, Nicky! Fetch the subpoena!"

"Mr. Deadpool?" shouted Phoenix and Maya in unison. Helping them up, Deadpool and Jill explained the whole misunderstanding to them, which took about a minute and a half. Phoenix and Maya looked understandably confused at the explanation, but they did their best to understand what was happening.

"So you're _not _going to turn me into a monster?" asked Maya.

"Of course not, sweetie," assured Jill, waving her hand in front of her dismissively. "That was just part of the facade. I'm with you guys, all the way." Jill then offered her hand to Phoenix and Maya. "My name's Jill Valentine, by the way. Double agent."

"Phoenix Wright. Defense attorney," said Phoenix, shaking her hand.

"Maya Fey. Spirit channeler and paralegal," said Maya, doing the same, while thinking that she really shouldn't have said 'spirit channeler.'

"Okay, so we're all buddy-buddy now, right?" asked Deadpool, and his three companions nodded in agreement. "So, Jillie, about that file."

"Right," said Jill, and she walked over to the computer situated on the desk. But before she could reach it, she noticed something quite off about the room. "The gateway... it's gone, already?"

"Uh, yeah," confirmed Phoenix, scratching the back of his head. "When I was shuffling through the files on the desk near the computer, the computer suddenly beeped, and a window saying "Analysis Completed" popped up, and all of a sudden, the room went dark. When we turned around the gateway was gone."

"And the analysis?"

"It's still there," said Phoenix. "I've read it, and... well, I don't really understand it. And there's this other thing," he continued, as he pulled a folder from his inner coat pocket. "It says 'Project: Eyes Without a Face' on the front, codenamed C70-N3. Pretty ominous, but I don't get the contents. Something about genetics, mutation, clon—"

Deadpool deftly snatched the file from Wright's hands as he spoke. "Sorry, Nicky, but this is high-profile stuff."

"He's right, Mr. Wright," said Jill, as she tinkered with the computer, tapping away at the keyboard. "Don't worry, though. Mr. Stark will probably brief you on it when you ask him."

_Project C70-N3, _thought Phoenix. _What could it be about? I read the whole thing, but... honestly, it's not as simple to read as an autopsy report or a crime file. Too many graphs, and tables, and charts, and words I can't even pronounce._

"Alright, got it," exclaimed Jill in delight. She then detached a flash disk from the computer and threw it towards Deadpool, who caught it as it flew. "Everything you need is there, Wade, so make sure you don't lose that. Reports, log books, datasheets, blueprints, everything."

"Got it. Thanks, Jillie," said Deadpool, before putting the device inside one of his pouches.

"Are you sure you're not gonna lose that?" asked Phoenix.

"Yeah, Mr. Deadpool," seconded Maya. "You've got an awful lot of pockets."

"Heh. Please," said Deadpool. "I've never lost a thing in my entire life! Why, this one time, when I was at my Aunt Gertrude's house in the Bahamas, we—"

A phone started to ring, its sound reverberated throughout the whole building. Reaching into a pouch strapped onto her left thigh, Jill pulled out a mobile phone from it and answered it. A familiar, ominous voice could be heard from the other line.

_"Telecommunications devices are working now," _noticed the man on the other line. _"Which means the gateway has collapsed. Have you retrieved the analysis?"_

"Yes, sir," answered Jill in a tone of voice much different from the one she used while speaking with Phoenix and Maya. It was without color, without feeling nor emotion… like if a doll suddenly started speaking, it would probably sound like how Jill sounded then.

_"And is our transport ready?"_

"Yes, sir. The vans are ready, and so are the choppers. We only await your orders."

_"Good. We'll be leaving in a few minutes. Make sure—"_

_"Hey, Albert, who're you talking to?" _shouted someone else from the other line. _"Is that your mom? Can she hear me? Hey, Mrs. Wesker, do you know that your son is a sadistic, world-destroying, psychopathic egomaniac? And he wears sunglasses at night! What the hell is up with that?"_

_"Shut it, you infernal, pathetic, four-limbed excuse for a spider!"_

_"Your mom is probably a nice lady. How she ended up with a son like you, I blame on genetics and the unforgiving laws of probability."_

_"Don't you mock me, insect!"_

_"Hey, I mock. I'm a mocker, that's what I do. By the way, how many cows did you slaughter for that coat? 20? 25? 205?"_

_"Once I get my hands on you, I'll squash you like the bug that you are, you infernal pest!"_

_"Squash the bug, squash the bug. Is that your A-game? Seriously? We haven't faced each other for weeks and that's the best line you can come up with? I am disappointed, thoroughly disappointed in you, Albert."_

_"I hate that man. So much," _whispered Wesker on the phone. Jill tried her best to stop herself from laughing. So did everyone else in the room. _"Agent Valentine, rendezvous with me at the helipad while I take care of this minor annoyance."_

"Y-yes, sir."

And with that the transmission ended.

"I better go now," said Jill afterwards, sheathing her phone.

Just then, ringing could be heard once more, and they all stood silently as they figured out where it came from. Deadpool then put two fingers to his ear and answered the call, prompting everyone in the room to look at him. He turned a dial twice to the right, and suddenly everyone there could hear the voice of the caller.

_"Deadpool, this is Iron Man. I repeat, this is Iron Man. Do you read me? Over," _spoke the voice on the other side of the transmission.

"Read ya loud and clear Shellhead," answered Deadpool.

_"Have you located Mr. Wright and Maya?"_

"Yep. They're here with me now," retorted the mercenary. "I also ran into Jillie, and God, she's still pretty sore about you leaving her with Wesker."

"Hey!"

_"Oh, I see. Then tell her we'll sort out her assignment next week. I don't really feel good about leaving her there, either. I'd hate the feeling too if I was in her place."_

"Thank you, Mr. Stark," greeted Jill happily.

_"Ah, Jill, you're really there. Don't worry about a thing, we'll sort this out. I hope you can manage another week."_

"Don't worry, Mr. Stark," assured Jill. "I can manage."

_"Good," said Tony. "Now, Deadpool. I need you to bring Mr. Wright and Maya to Warehouse 42. Their escort is here. We need to get them back to Stark Tower immediately. Chun-Li and Tron are in pretty bad shape, so get here as fast as—"_

"Miss Chun-Li and Tron?" exclaimed Phoenix quite loudly. "A-Are they okay? A-Are they in serious condition?"

_"Mr. Wright, you don't have to worry," _explained Stark, in an effort to calm Phoenix down. _"Nothing major. Mostly fractures and gashes. And they're just pretty tired, that's all. No need for you to get worked up."_

"Okay," retorted Phoenix. "I'm sorry. I just freaked out, that's all. Not yet used to this."

_"I know you aren't… Wouldn't expect you to be. Now, Deadpool, get to Warehouse 42 immediately, so we can escort all of them back home. Understood?"_

"Yeah, yeah. Got it."

_"Alright. Iron Man out." _And with that the transmission ended.

"What warehouse are we in?" asked Phoenix.

"We're in 54," answered Jill. "Warehouse 42 is just around the corner. Once you get out, take a left. You can't miss it, since all the warehouses are chronologically ordered."

"Thank you, Miss Valentine," said Phoenix.

"No worries, Mr. Wright," replied Jill. She was pushing aside the desk the computer was on. Underneath it was a small compartment of some sort, but as Jill demonstrated, it was actually a trap door. Maya was more than amazed.

"Wow! Look Nick, it's a trap door!" she cried.

"Yeah, it is pretty neat," admitted Phoenix.

"If you think that's hot stuff, let me tell you about the time I was at my Aunt Gertrude's place. Man, let me tell you the Bahamas was pretty cool this time of—"

"Well, I guess I gotta go," said Jill. "It was nice meeting you both, Mr. Wright, Maya." She then turned to Deadpool and said, "Wade, stay out of trouble," quite threateningly.

After which she jumped down the hole, and Maya was so impressed she wouldn't stop talking about how cool that move was until they got to the warehouse's front gate. Outside the warehouse, the rain still poured down heavily.

"Should we run it?" asked Phoenix, as they stood by the entrance of the warehouse, staring at the surrounding area outside. The sky was dark and gloomy, and the feeling of the moment was cold and melancholic. In that fleeting moment of peace, he realized that moments like these would become rarer as time went by. No, not just because of Deadpool. What Phoenix realized was how chaotic this new world of his was. How full of vim and vinegar, how random and drastic it all was.

Looking up at the sky, he didn't noticed that Deadpool had already ran outside, and was waiting for them. Phoenix turned to Maya, and found her looking up at the sky as well, with attentive eyes.

Was she thinking the same thing he was? He couldn't tell. All he knew was that from that moment on, both their lives would be changed forever. He wasn't certain how, and he wasn't certain if it would be a good thing or a bad thing. What he was certain of was that nothing would ever be the same again.

"You ready?" he asked her.

"As long as you are," she replied, and held out her hand, smiling.

Seeing Deadpool run further, disturbing the water at his feet with every step, Phoenix grabbed Maya's hand. And they both gave chase.

**End of Chapter 6**


	7. Dark Pact

**Turnabout Crossover**

* * *

><p><em>He was starting to get excited, and so was she. They were far into the night now, but that didn't stop him from recalling the stories. It was like they didn't even notice the night wane as he talked and she listened.<em>

_"They told us to go to Warehouse 42, and damn right we couldn't miss it, seeing as there was this huge whole in the wall that we could see through the rain from several blocks."_

_"A giant hole in the wall?" she asked him, perplexed. "What made it? You did say an awful lot of missiles came out of the bat lady's wings."_

_"The hole wasn't the amazing part, you know," he told her. "The amazing part was when we went inside, tired and drenched in rainwater. That was the first time I saw them. I couldn't believe my eyes when I did, Maya more so. We just stood there in awe."_

_"Saw who, Mr. Attorney?"_

_"…Mr. Attorney?"_

_It took a little longer for the thought in her head to register itself._

_"Oh, sorry," she cried. "Should I call you 'daddy' then, Daddy?"_

_"Daddy's fine with me," he told her. "In any case, anything else is better than Mr. Attorney."_

_"So, who did you see, Daddy? Who did you see? Who were they?"_

_He breathed deeply. "Superheroes, Trucy. The superheroes were there. You might be thinking about what was so profound about that since I already met Peter, Deadpool and Dante, and that I already saw Morrigan and Jean."_

_"Jean?"_

_"Yeah. It was hard to believe, but Jean was one of their hard-hitters. Their most powerful one, in fact. And Chun-Li can throw fireballs and stuff. Thinking about it now, I think my initial reaction to finding about all of that later on was a resonating jaw drop."_

_"Wow," she exclaimed in actual, bewildered amazement. "Fireballs, Daddy?"_

_He droned on as she listened attentively, perhaps realizing how difficult it was to explain the human ability to spawn fireballs to a little girl._

_"What happened next?"_

_"The thing is, I'm not sure how to explain it, but I was awed by the sight of them. Maya more so, since she goes gaga for heroes, but me, I never believed in heroes. I always believed that we didn't need heroes to help us, that all we ever needed was to be able to stand on our own two feet and help ourselves on our own. That if we had the power to, we should also help others. That we should feel responsible about doing what we can to help those who need it, that we should be responsible about doing the right thing._

_"You might think it's a little hypocritical of me to want to help other people, but refuse to have others help me. But that was just how I was._

_"I believed that as long as I stood for justice, I didn't need heroes to save me. That I didn't have to rely on other people to bail me out if I was ever in trouble. I didn't want anyone else to fight my battles for me, I wanted to be my own hero, so to speak. And because of that, I never believed in heroes. I used to think to myself that we didn't need them..._

_He suddenly stopped._

_"Hmm," she mumbled. "Daddy, what made you change your mind then?"_

_"...Good question."_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7: Dark Pact<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>The rain fell hard on the rusted rooftops and dilapidated walls of that forgotten cemetery of a compound. As the cumbersome shackles of darkness started to grip the very foundations of that ancient graveyard, slowly and painfully, a much powerful presence shook the utmost core of that wasteland drenched in fire and brimstone.<strong>

Hidden in a high tower in the middle of the flooded enclosure, a white-haired young man watched attentively as events unfolded below him. Treachery, brutality and deceit filled the skirmishes which developed in the streets under him, battles where combatants who simply defied the notions of good and evil opposed each other constantly. To him it was all a charade, and that not all of those who defined themselves as good were entirely righteous, while not all those who would be defined as evil were fully so. So sure was he in his conclusion that the idea of his judgment being wrong confounded him to no end.

Watching the arachnid fight the man in the black coat, the white-haired young man could not help but find them exempted from his assessment. He was told that the man who wears the mark of the spider was nothing but good, despite his plea to the contrary, and that he was a man who was simply incorruptible, not easily swayed by power and authority. And his unwavering determination to uphold justice made him difficult to break. And in turn it was said to him that the man in the black coat was an epitome of evil, one who had no redeeming qualities, one who would sink to the lowest of the low to attain his goals and gain absolute power. But like his adversary, his mad quest for power and godhood and his resolve to attain these goals made him difficult to break as well.

"Nonsense," whispered the white-haired man. He turned to his companion and continued, "They are nothing but humans. No human_ can't_ be broken, they can all be bought and bargained with, and their spirits easily crushed. Humans are not pure, nor are they invincible; they _all_ have weaknesses that can be exploited. There cannot possibly be an exception."

His companion, a flaming-headed entity in a black and red colored armor, heartily laughed at his words. If you're willing to call his demonic howls hearty, that is.

"Humanity is quite interesting, is it not? Although your notions of them are flawed, dear boy. Humanity is not as fragile as your perception see it as. They may be seem feeble, but they have overwhelming potential, and with the right guidance they can be formidable pawns."

"I know humanity. Its ways are foreign to you from what I can tell, ancient one, but old as you are, compared to you I know humanity," retorted the white-haired man, looking back at the battle below him. "I am familiar to it all too well."

"Yes, I know," said Dormammu, as he paced around the tower. The rain being blown by strong winds from all directions did not graze him, as if he was covered by an invisible forcefield that kept him dry, while the young man he was conversing with was compltely drenched. Not that he minded. "You are a demon, yet you are part human. You believe your humanity to be a weakness—"

"For it is. My humanity keeps me from gaining absolute power." His wet hair covered part of his face, and in that fleeting moment his resemblance to his brother was uncanny, and no one would be able to mistake them for anything other than twins.

"—You believe your humanity to be a weakness. You say that I know not what you have experienced yet I know more than what you believe I know about humanity. As sickening as it is to say this, humanity is stronger than you make of it."

"What is it exactly about humanity that you know of? What makes them so special?" asked Vergil sternly, as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"Boy, you know not the extent of my powers. You know not what I can do on a whim. I have absorbed countless realms and domains, I have worshippers that far outnumber the population of living beings on this backwater planet. The extent of my abilities is unfathomable to their diminutive human minds, and yet, try as I might, this realm has always eluded my grasp."

"And why is that?"

"Humans are hardier than what you give them credit for," spoke Dormammu with finality. "Destroy their cities and they will rebuild them. Kill their loved ones and they find the strength to move forward. Crush them and beat them to the ground, reduce them to dust, and they will continue to stand up again and again until you find no more satisfaction in their destruction. And afterwards they might even find the courage to try and defy you. I know only of one of these insects who has the power to combat my influence, yet the virtues he embodies is present in a lot of them."

"And are these virtues important?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps these are what set them apart from all the other countless insects scattered across this filth-ridden universe. These human emotions and qualities still escape my complete understanding, for in the Dark Dimension I have no need to know the difference between good and evil, of compassion and hatred. But perhaps these are what separate humans from all the countless races that I have embraced through my influence. Take that one human for example, he who is battling the mad man beneath us."

"I have fought him earlier. You say he is incorruptible," said Vergil, as he continued observe the fight below him. "Is he like the other human you speak of?"

"He and Strange are alike in many ways," said Dormammu, cupping his chin. "Yet Strange possesses great power, enough that he dares combat myself and a host of other entities similar though lesser to me, for what I wonder can equal the Dread Dormammu? This man possesses power greater than a normal human, but compared to mine and Strange's he is but an ant, no different from all the other ants inhabiting this planet. Yet for some curious reason he is even more incorruptible than my greatest foe. He remains righteous and unselfish, despite the harsh reality that this planet is not even worthy of any sort of sacrifice in the slightest, not even that of this ant. Still, he somehow finds the strength to defy the natural course of the universe and continue fighting. What is more, he fights not for himself but for others."

"What are you trying to tell me?"

"It seems that no matter how physically feeble this race is, humanity's strength lies not in the raw power it possesses. It lies not in their physical nor mystical prowess, it lies not on what they can do nor what they cannot do. Humanity's true power lies within them: a power even I with all my capabilities cannot fathom, as impossible that may seem, an incorporeal power lacking physical form. It is the strength of their virtues and their will by which they survive countless assaults from many beings a thousandfold more powerful than they are. I am telling you this for you seek to destroy them, do you not? Then you must not strike at their physical forms, but you must strike at their heart. In order to conquer humanity, you must learn that their strength as well as their weakness lies within."

"I have no quarrel with humanity, ancient one, and I certainly have no intention of conquering it. I find no strength in my human form, and despite your efforts I find no consolation in having a human half," said Vergil defiantly. "Might controls everything. I seek only power, by which to vanquish and protect. Can you not grant me that power?"

A deep, bellowing laugh escaped from the Dark One's mouth.

"To vanquish and protect? And to whom do you plan to do either, hmm? You are an interesting one, asking the Dread Dormammu himself to grant you power. You are fortunate I am in a mood that will humor your ramblings. You wish only to gain power for yourself, and that is why you are weak. If you are willing to listen further, look once more below you, son of Sparda, and notice the man in the black coat."

Vergil turned once more to the scrap below him, and observed the leather-clad man. "The man in the black coat? You say that he is incorruptible as well."

"He is Albert Wesker, a true monster of a man. He is unlike most humans. Vile and despicable, he knows no compassion, and he only yearns for power to satisfy himself, much like you do right now. I believe he is no longer even human, and in many ways he surpasses lesser demons in the severity of his sins. He is only incorruptible in the sense that nothing can stray him from the path of absolute power. And because of that, no matter how intelligent or manipulative or devious he is by human standards, he is nothing but a weak-minded fool whose only path to take is nothing but the path to self-destruction."

"If what you say is true, then what must I do to avoid that fate?" asked Vergil earnestly.

"The man who likens himself to the spider finds power not by serving himself, but by serving a higher cause. His humanity allows him to become a servant of ideas such as justice and righteousness, which despite being laughable causes, his determination in upholding and believing in these ideas are what compels him to achieve power. By losing his humanity and serving only himself, Albert Wesker will sow nothing but the seeds of destruction, which will ultimately lead to his inevitable downfall."

"So what you are telling me is that my humanity allows me to gain power in the service of a higher authority." Vergil tried to find a hidden meaning in those words, for he feels uneasy with the notion that his humanity would actually lead him to achieve his most desired outcome.

The mouth of the Black One curved into a smile. "In a way. After all, what are humans good for other than serving a higher power? And there can be no fault in serving the _highest_ power himself, can there?"

Vergil paused and thought of his options. In moments, he smiled as well. "Of course you know that once I've gained what I seek, I will desert you."

"Fair enough," agreed Dormammu. "Keep in mind that when that moment comes, I will not withhold myself from attempting to kill you."

"Fine then," said Vergil, smirking. "Then ancient one, what is thy will?"

"Be patient, demonspawn. Our time will come." He then walked over to the edge of the tower and looked down below as well, as the battle continued to rage under the rain. "Two polar opposites, yet similar in so many ways, duking it out in combat, in an attempt to vanquish one another once and for all. Yes, humanity is quite a sight to see. Easily swayed by emotions, and in the process they throw all logic down the drain. If you seek power demonspawn then I can give you power. But first you must assist me in furthering my own goals."

The Dreaded One lifted one dark hand, and a black, swirling void appeared in midair.

"Though mine goals are tied directly to a being even more powerful than I. In fact, it is this tie that binds every being that crossed over to this world to one another. A master plot eons in the making. You are fortunate to even be deemed worthy of having part in it, son of Sparda."

Vergil watched the void unfold, and unfazed by the overwhelming demonic power of his new superior, he turned to him and asked a question that has been forming in his mind for a while now. "You kept calling me the son of Sparda, ancient one. Do you know of my father?"

"I am the Dread Dormammu, brother of Umar, creator of Satan, Satannish and Mephisto, who in turn spawned all the malevolent demons of all the realms in the multiverse," he spoke, as he continued brewing his portal. "As such, every demon and hellspawn are descended of me, and their powers are a consequence of my own. Your father was your realm's most powerful demon, but he was blinded by humanity's flaws and succumbed to their emotions, liberating the humans of your realm. He was but a fool who, instead of overcoming humanity, became a willing pawn of it. The demon Mundus whom he sealed was not even a demon worthy of my notice, a jester whose hubris disallowed him from seeing that he was far less powerful than what he thought he was. To be brief, your father sacrificed his power for the most worthless of causes. I trust you do not do the same."

As he spoke, the vortex he summoned was now fully opened. He then turned to Vergil, who silently listened, once more and said, "Thread lightly. First, there is a bargain I must make with our friend down there." They then both entered the portal, and it closed behind them, leaving the desolate and empty tower.

Lightning cut across the sky, and the whole world knew that a storm was coming.

* * *

><p><strong>"What's the matter, Albert?" asked an exasperated Spider-Man, as he nonchalantly dodged the coated man's gunfire at close range. Landing behind Wesker, he delivered a roundhouse kick straight to back of his adversary's head. Noticing his opponent's movement, with quick steps Wesker dashed forward, narrowly avoiding the attack. Kneeling on one knee as he faced his adversary, he slowly stood up as his enemy went on with his banter. "Heh. Got your lobotomy scars flaring up again?"<strong>

Wesker shrugged, and he paced the floor as he pulled out a pair of sunglasses from his coat pocket. Putting them on, he said, "Insolent whelp. A fan of the theatrics, yet you never quite had the right comedic timing. If I may, I'd like to try giving the punchline this time."

He then rushed towards Spider-Man with blinding speed, forcing the hero to dodge left and right in order to avoid his opponent's lightning-fast jabs. Sensing an opening in his opponent's stance, Spider-Man rolled to his left and delivered a straight to Wesker's jaw.

"Punchline?" asked Spider-Man, as he evaded a retaliating haymaker from his disoriented opponent. "Since when did you become a comedian? Last time I checked, you couldn't tell what a joke was."

"Last time you checked," answered Wesker, as he casually leaned to the left, dodging a low kick from the arachnid, before following it up with a clean jab to the arachnid's chest, knocking him down, "I haven't started working with M.O.D.O.K. yet."

"Okay, I must admit," remarked Spider-Man, as his somersaulted backwards in order to avoid an axe kick from his adversary, "that one was actually kinda funny."

The leather coated man then lunged forward and threw a right hook at the arachnid, as he was about ready to land. Smiling, he spoke, "What can I say, I learned from the best."

Noticing the attack, Spider-Man was able to bend backwards as the punch flew right above him. Sensing an opening, he sprung forward, pushing himself off the ground. Savagely handing Wesker a double-boot to the chest, he sent the leather-clad man staggering backwards.

"Oh, you sweet talker, you," mocked Spider-Man as he crouched low on the floor, anticipating his adversary's next move.

Catching himself as he was just about to fall, Wesker regained his composure and stood upright. He then fixed his coat and pulling his sleeve, he looked at his watch and said, "I'm afraid I have to cut our meeting short. Seven minutes was all I had to play with you."

"Awww, don't tell me playtime's over," said Spider-Man sarcastically. "I haven't even kicked your face in the sandbox yet."

"Don't worry," reassured Wesker, smiling. "I've already arranged a new playmate for you to play with."

Just then, a nagging pain started piercing at the base of Spider-Man's neck.

_Spider-sense tingling, _he thought, _but this one's different. This one's gonna hurt._

Turning around, he was just in time to see a giant creature pounce at him, somehow able to get in close proximity to him without him noticing earlier. The monster tackled him to the ground, and with a giant claw-like left arm it impaled the hero's right shoulder, pinning him down to the roof.

Spider-Man grabbed hold of the behemoth's arm, trying to pull out the appendage that had pierced him, while trying his best keep the creature's wide, gaping mouth from taking a bite out of his head. "What the hell is this?" cried the wallcrawler, with a pained intonation in his voice, "The Nemesis' baby brother?"

Wesker, the magnificent bastard that he was, took the liberty of answering his adversary's question.

"Big brother, actually, if you could call it that. Tyrant model T-002, one of the first T-virus descended B.O.W.s Umbrella has ever created. Don't worry, I trust in your capability to get out of this predicament. After all, I would never let anyone or anything else have the honor of finishing you off."

Walking towards the edge of the building, in the direction that faced the George Washington Bridge, Wesker and Spider-Man glared at one another eye-to-eye once more, before the former jumped off.

"Monsters," whispered Spider-Man to himself, as he gripped the creature's neck, keeping it from reaching his head, "I guess after this, there's one less to worry about."

* * *

><p><strong>Jill Valentine, celebrated member of S.T.A.R.S. Delta Team, and afterwards, one of the founding members of the B.S.A.A. An outstanding and outspoken young woman, Jill wasn't one to freak out in the most dire of situations, and her cool head and calm demeanor has saved her and any team she's on from certain death countless times. Even after being an unwilling pawn to her most hated enemy, Jill has admitted to herself that even in her brainwashed state, her training and tactical prowess still shone brightly through every battle she participated in, minimizing the casualties of the expendable agents of A.I.M. in missions where she takes the lead.<strong>

Six months after being transported to this strange amalgam of universes and serving the Masters of Evil, Jill was rescued from her predicament by her former partner Deadpool, a mercenary who switched sides after realizing just what exactly he was helping the villains accomplish.

Unbeknownst to them, Deadpool had taken Jill with him in his escape, and with the help of the Avengers team that Captain America founded on this planet, they were able to destroy the device that Wesker had implanted on her to control her, enabling her to become in-control of her person once more. After then, she was reunited with close friend Chris Redfield, an ally from her world who had somehow stumbled into this planet himself.

However, their reunion was short-lived when Tony Stark, a leader of the Avengers, asked her to maintain her facade as Wesker's unwilling accomplice. Explaining to her that it would be a valuable asset to have a mole deep within their enemy's ranks, Jill accepted the mission, and three months since then she has been keeping the Avengers' up-to-date with whatever information she is able to scavenge from Wesker's files and documents, including secret projects and excursions.

Yet with all her expertise, and her reputation to be as cold as steel in the face of danger, as she held her gun in front of the malevolent entity that had suddenly appeared inside the helicopter she was manning, she couldn't help but feel her legs shake in fear at the realization that for all her training and experience, nothing has prepared her in facing an extraordinary opponent such as this. Meanwhile, the entity's companion, a white-haired man in a blue coat, couldn't help but voice out his displeasure with the woman holding a gun.

"Please put your gun down, miss," asked the white-haired man politely. "I certainly don't feel comfortable in the presence of a firearm."

"You are full of surprises, are you not?" noted Dormammu. "I have seen humans wield such weapons with efficiency, and even lesser demons can be killed with such arms. In fact, if I am not mistaken, and certainly the Dread Dormammu is incapable of making one, your brother uses them himself, does he not?"

"Don't expect me to be as carefree and foolhardy as my brother," reprimanded Vergil. "Guns are worthless, and compared to a sword they are cowardly and ineffectual." Unsheathing his weapon itself from its scabbard, Vergil held the nodachi-length blade high, and the respect he has for it was evident on his face. "I am a swordsman, like my father before me. This is the Yamato, the weapon of a true warrior. Not as random or clumsy as a handgun; an elegant weapon for a more civilized age."

As the two beings conversed in front of her, Jill, in a stern voice, tried to question them on their coming, knowing fully well the consequences she might face if they somehow proved hostile.

"We are looking for the human named Albert Wesker, insect," spoke the being with the flaming head and demonic eyes. "Is he not here?"

"Wesker?" asked Jill. If they were looking for Wesker, they were certainly nothing but trouble. "He's—"

"You are looking for me?" suddenly asked a voice from outside. Drenched and soaking wet from the rain, the man himself entered the aircraft. Ordering Jill to man the helicopter once more, he turned around and faced the demon who had asked for him. "You are Dormammu. Correct?"

"Ah. So you have heard of me, Albert Wesker?" questioned the Dark One, amused.

"Doom has already informed me of the possibility of you being here on this planet," explained Wesker, in a tone that curiously revealed his disinterest in the conversation. It seemed even to him, demonic dealings was a line he wouldn't dare cross. "And seeing that you are already here in front of me, I believe that you have something you would want to discuss."

"Yes," answered Dormammu, in a somber tone. "We have a proposition for you."

Just then, the helicopter had achieved lift-off, leaving the helipad it was parked on as it made its way through the stormy New York skies. In her mind, Jill couldn't shake the feeling that was making her uneasy. As if they didn't have enough problems already, another being, potentially as powerful as Galactus himself, was trying to make a bargain with an already unscrupulous man.

Lightning cut across the sky, and in her mind, Jill somehow made the connection that it was a sign of things to come. Whatever it was, regardless of whether that was true, there was no question here that there were to be dark days ahead.

**End of Chapter 7**


	8. Pursuit

**Turnabout Crossover**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8: Pursuit<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Phoenix wasn't sure what to make of the colorful host of characters in front of them. Sitting in the back of a van, covered with a wool blanket to keep himself warm, he sipped hot cocoa from a ceramic mug that had an Avengers logo on the front, while waiting for his coat and dress shirt to dry off on a hanger behind him.<strong>

Beside him Chun-Li had her own cup of cocoa, which she took a sip from every now and then. Covered in bandages, and with her right arm in a sling, she was now dressed in a black AC/DC shirt and denim pants, after her usual outfit had been ripped to shreds. It was now nicely put in a shoe box inside the van next to the Doombot Dante and Morrigan fought for her to sew later when they get back to the Tower. Her right bracelet was missing, and it was taxing for her to think about how asymmetrical her arms looked with just the one bracelet.

Behind them, inside the van a wounded Tron lay resting on a makeshift bed. Covered in bandages herself, all she could think about was how she was going to repair Gustaff when they get back home in her condition. The thought of Tony apologizing to her earlier put a lot more strain on her mind though, as the Avenger's genuinely worried and guilty expression made her sort of depressed.

She didn't mean for this to happen, and she especially didn't want them to worry about her. Just because she was kid, she had thought to herself, it didn't mean they should treat her as one who was incapable of protecting herself. She was pirate, was she not? And even within her family she was already a prodigy. And one of the greatest mechanics who ever existed to boot, perhaps second only to Tony Stark himself at her age.

If the enemy were able to trash her this easily, then how can she save her brothers on her own now? There were some things she knew she had to do on her own.

"...And the green woman in the white and purple leotard," said Chun-Li, pointing towards the green-skinned woman Tony was talking to. She had been telling Phoenix about the other heroes to pass the time while they waited for their orders. Everyone would have wanted to introduce themselves to Phoenix personally, but with everything that's been happening and with the possibly little time that they have left, they would have to do it at some other more convenient occasion. "That's Jen," continued Chun-Li, "Jennifer Walters, she's Bruce's cousin."

"It seems green runs in the family, doesn't it?" snapped Phoenix, after taking a drink out of his mug.

"Actually," started Chun-Li, "she became She-Hulk only after she was transfused with her cousin's gamma-irradiated blood. That's what Peter told me."

"What was her name again?" asked Phoenix.

"Jennifer Wal—"

"No, no," cut in Phoenix. "I mean, what's her superhero name?"

"She-Hulk," answered Chun-Li, curiously. As Phoenix started snickering to himself while covering his mouth, Chun-Li couldn't help but ask, "What's so funny?"

"Well, her cousin is called the _'Hulk'_ and so she calls herself the _'She-Hulk'?"_ started Phoenix, laughing to himself a bit. "It's kind of funny, I mean, these names they think for themselves." Pointing to the man in the red and gold colored powered armor, he continued, "Mr. Stark calls himself _'Iron Man'_ because he's in that iron suit. You have to admit, thinking up superhero names doesn't call for much creativity, doesn't it? And it's sort of silly."

"Actually," replied Chun-Li, "his armor is made from a strong titanium alloy, tougher than steel. And if I remember correctly, Peter told me once that Mr. Stark didn't really pick the name for himself. He said the media started calling Mr. Stark that, or more precisely his armor, like their personal nickname of sorts."

If only Tony could hear her say that, he would reprimand her over calling the armor Iron Man, and if he wasn't busy planning with the other heroes, he would casually explain to her that it wasn't the armor that made Anthony Edward Stark Iron Man. It was Anthony Edward Stark that made the armor Iron Man.

The suit and him are one, he would add to the end of his little speech.

But for now, Stark was busy planning their next course of action. He had just called Spider-Man and ordered him to get on his way to Warehouse 42 so they can finish planning, and he had already asked Dante to stay in the open and keep an eye in the sky and give them the lowdown on what was happening if something interesting occurred by the bridge.

When they told him earlier that the Dr. Doom they were fighting was a Doombot, Stark simply ordered Morrigan to take the piece of junk to the warehouse to be analyzed for anything useful, and prided himself on his insight on guessing right about the fake Doom they faced. Somehow, he forgot that it was never _not _a Doombot.

"Well, Metal Alloy Man does sound weirder," agreed Phoenix. "But how about that guy?" he asked, and pointed to the man in an outfit with a red, white and blue color scheme. He was a carrying a round shield strapped onto his back. "His outfit's pretty star-spangly, don't you think?" Turning to look at her, Phoenix was surprised at the pissed off look on Chun-Li's face, and not knowing what could have been the cause, he asked her, "Did I say something wrong?"

"Mr. Wright," she spoke, rather sternly, _"one does not simply diss Captain America."_ The tone of her voice and the fear that she invoked with her words scared the living hell out of Phoenix, who would never have imagined her capable of getting her expression to change so drastically. "Not his _uniform,_ not his _shield,_ not his _name..._ you simply _do not_ speak ill of _Captain America. _And I'm not the only one who thinks that. Cap may not think anything of it, but a_ lot_ of us here wouldn't think_ twice_ about kicking your ass. _Do you understand?"_

Phoenix, who was by now sweating profusely, despite not showing any sign of fear as much as he could manage, quickly answered with a meek, "Yes, ma'am."

"Good," replied Chun-Li, who had somehow turned from scary back to cheerful effortlessly in a matter of seconds. Phoenix, as any sane man would, thought that the sudden recoil was unnerving, to say the least. It reminded him of someone, but he shook his head before the awful memory comes back to haunt him.

As Chun-Li raised her cup to her lips, she found it to be empty, so she happily excused herself and went back inside the van to get some more.

_That girl is just as crazy as Maya, _Phoenix thought to himself. _And is just as scary as Franziska. Perhaps scarier. Kinda more Dahl—no, Phoenix. You promised that we would never mention that name again._

Speaking of Maya, she could be found happily sitting in the Hulk's hands, with the Hulk enjoying himself as he was tossing her up and about in the air and catching her on her descent. This was in itself a rare moment, as everyone knows that the Hulk was the least social person you could ever meet. Yet somehow Maya's bubbly persona and her eagerness and excitability with all thing strange and wonderful in this world of heroes has gotten through the Hulk's cold exterior, as he was now happily partaking in her merriment much to the chagrin of Phoenix, who was utterly terrified of the Hulk. Who wouldn't, when the guy can practically kill a man with a finger flick?

The building was relatively empty, and save for the van that Shulkie drove in with when Tony ordered her team to come in as back-up, assaulting the warehouse's wall in the process, there was nothing else in there except for the small, foldable table in the middle of the establishment, where the heroes were planning their next move.

With a map of the immediate vicinity spread out on the table, Steve Rogers, secretly "The Star-Spangled Man with a Plan" Captain America, was busy formulating a sizable tactic that would work efficiently with their fewer numbers. A lot of their agents were busy with missions, while a lot of others had their own agenda and couldn't be counted upon readily.

"Do you think Wesker could have gotten far?" asked Cap, as he was surveying the surrounding area on his map.

"Wesker had just gotten away when I called Peter," answered Stark. "At least that's what he told me. In any case, he shouldn't have gone too far. He's probably just somewhere over the Hudson at the moment. I'll have JARVIS take a quick scan of the perimeter, at about a fifteen mile radius. As long as he doesn't reach the nearest Umbrella facility, he can't call sanctuary."

Cap was carefully weighing their options. "And why _can't _we arrest him if he's in an Umbrella facility, again?"

"Because that would be breaking the law, Steve," replied Tony in a monotonous tone of voice. "And we're the Avengers, we _don't _break the law. Unless of course, you know, the government does something stupid, like appointing Norman Osborn as Chief of Security. And regardless of that, we can't since Albert Wesker, even if we know him as the psychothic, manipulative mastermind everyone loves to hate, is to the public a high-profile individual and CEO of the Umbrella Corporation."

A few months back, when Chris Redfield heard that Wesker was the CEO of the Umbrella Corporation in this universe, he was utterly shocked, although back then Tony wasn't quite sure _why_ he was surprised. When Chris started relating to him the history of the Umbrella Corporation in his world, and how it fell into bankruptcy in 2003 after the destruction of Raccoon City due to a viral outbreak in 1998, that was when Tony became curious of the universe's alternate timeline, and started his five-month long research about this merged Earth and its history.

An extensive background check during Tony's research of this world's history revealed that things didn't go the same path that it did back in Chris' Earth, as it did in this merged universe. Further investigation showed that possibly due to having prior knowledge of future events, Albert Wesker was able to climb higher in the ranks of the Umbrella Corporation, changing major events that led to the fall of the company, especially those which occurred during the eventful second half of 1998.

But try as he might, there were just some details of the story that he couldn't have possibly known.

First, by secretly assassinating James Marcus after he was revived by the queen leech, Wesker therefore directly prevented the outbreak within the Spencer Mansion and its underground laboratory and consequently preventing the release of B.O.W.s in the Arklay Mountains, which meant that the Raccoon City Police Department's Elite S.T.A.R.S. Special Forces Division, which in this world was not created by Wesker, were not able to investigate the mansion, leaving its activities secret.

Then again, Wesker did intentionally lead them in his world's timeline to the mansion in order to gain combat data on the the first Tyrant, but that would be a tale for another time.

Secondly, Wesker himself directly caused the death of his colleague William Birkin when he was able to finish his research, preventing him from injecting himself with the G-virus, which Birkin did in their world, and more importantly, preventing him from accidentally starting the Raccoon City Outbreak, the major catastrophe that exposed Umbrella's secrets to the world.

As such, Wesker's tampering with the timeline left Umbrella to grow and continue its global operations under the facade of being a phamaceutical company, gaining influence as an American megacorporation that was rivaled only by Stark's own Stark Industries in power, and later even became its CEO after Oswell E. Spencer's untimely and mysterious demise.

After a few days into researching, Agent Redfield was dispatched by Stark to monitor Umbrella's activities in its base headquarters at Raccoon City, while Stark was left to wonder how he would be able to fight an enemy on corporate grounds, much more than in personal combat.

But the bigger question was how and when was Wesker able to make these changes to the timeline, effectively making himself a much more formidable foe than he already was.

"Right, and because of that the Avengers can't possibly let themselves be seen doing what in the eyes of the public is a heinous act," agreed Cap. He and Stark then turned their heads towards the masked man on the other side of the table in front of them, who was apparently unaware they were glaring at him. Only when Cap called his name did he chance to look up and see them fixing their eyes on him. "Deadpool, do you understand?"

"What? I swear to Odin's beard, it was an honest mistake, really," said the merc, in a desperate attempt to justify his actions. Everybody in the room, save for Phoenix and Maya, glared at him intensely even as he vehemently tried to explain himself. Even Morrigan, who never was one to take anything seriously, was visibly angry at the merc.

"Why, what did he do?" whispered Phoenix to Chun-Li, who had joined the others in making Deadpool feel guilty, not that Deadpool had any sense of guilt that they knew of. Well, besides that one time during poker night before Logan, Ryu and Laura left for Japan.

"Last week he went off on his own, saying he was going to buy a newspaper from the stand in front of the Tower," started Chun-Li. "A little later, the alarms started going off, and JARVIS alerted everyone to an intruder in the hangar. It turns out that Deadpool had just hijacked a Quinjet and was on his way to an Umbrella Facility in Russia. If it weren't for Doctor Strange taking a breather from the _Sanctum Sanctorum_ and teleporting the jet back here after it was shot down by the Coast Guard, we would have had a serious crisis on our hands."

Crisis was right. The most staggering thing about this Earth was that there were no superhumans, demons, paranormal entities, and the like that are in existence as far as the general public is concerned, and because of that the existence of superheroes as a whole were relegated to comic books, television and movies—fictional characters that had no bearing in real life.

But during the nine months that they've stayed here and due to the heroes' various operations, people have become aware that there were beings in their midst that they were unsure of, no matter how much the media had been dismissing them off as urban myths. Stark's research might just explain _why _this was the case, but after all that time he spent compiling data, he hasn't had time to analyze them fully yet.

Various footage, videos, blurry photographs and sightings have been had, and local newspapers have been running news stories and editorials about so-called masked heroes running around cities like New York. Because of the very sensitive issue with Galactus on his way to devour Earth and all, at least as far as they knew, Steve has opted that the Avengers and their operatives stay hidden for now, and let the public talk about these secret heroes and their adventures, while they try to sort out the crisis. And besides, the less they knew, the better. At least that's what Tony said.

So with Deadpool's little escapade they were able to escape a major crisis by the skin of their teeth. Tony was already eager to let the issue die down so they could go back to what was important at the moment, and after reprimanding Deadpool repeatedly, despite knowing that it would probably happen again in the near future, the heroes went back to planning their next course of action.

Just as the rain outside fell at its hardest, Tony's communicator started ringing. Clamping down his helmet, he answered the call knowing fully well who it was from.

_"Mr. Stark, it's Dante. We've got a problem."_

Tony was already expecting one, and he was even effectively waiting for one to happen; he's been in the superhero business far too long for him _not _to know when there would be a problem. But the combination of Dante's voice all calm and collected, although with just a tinge of very blatant excitement, and the way he spoke the words 'we have a problem' meant that the problem wasn't going to be a walk in the park.

When Dante, the fiery, hot-blooded half demon who had a slight penchant for destruction, is visibly trying to conceal his giddy-as-a-school-girl excitement under a cool and collected guise, you know something big was going to happen. Not just _big. Five-stories-tall-big _was more like it.

"Alright, what do we have?" asked Tony, as he turned the armor's loudspeaker on, so everyone can hear the update.

_"M-Class Sentinels, coming in fast from north of the bridge," _started the demon hunter. _"There are about two dozen of them, although that's only far as I can see. Plus, I spot a convoy of black vans coming out of a warehouse on the northern end of the compound. They must have some sort of underground parking lot built in there, 'cause there's no way they can fit some seventeen vehicles into that tiny building. The convoy is making its way out of the enclosure and seems to be making its way onto the bridge. They most probably contain the escaped A.I.M. soldiers that got out earlier after we came barging in here."_

"They're probably planning to dock somewhere," suggested She-Hulk, who had been silently listening until then. "The nearest dock is across the bridge. They probably have cargo ships waiting there."

"No, I doubt it," disagreed Cap. "They would be no different from a sitting duck if they were to cross through a waterway. Too easy to locate and track. M.O.D.O.K. is too smart to let his men get caught like that."

"Dante," cried Tony, "are they crossing the bridge?"

_"No, wait... no they aren't," _answered the demon hunter. _"They're on their way to Fort Washington Avenue. They're not crossing the bridge after all._"

"And what about the Sentinels?"

_"They're only some 900 or so yards away from the bridge. They're coming in hard and fast."_

That left them no time to waste. Immediately everyone present, save for Phoenix, Chun-Li and Maya, ran towards the table and huddled around Cap, who had already started giving out orders. Maya then ran towards Phoenix and Chun-Li after the Hulk had let her down gently.

"What's going on?" asked Maya, who had a band-aid covering a small slit on her cheek. It reminded Phoenix of a certain police detective who has had a band-aid stuck onto his cheek in the three years Phoenix has known him, and he has never once seen him without it.

"Cap's giving out orders," answered Chun-Li, who had just gulped down her third cup of cocoa. "We should go listen."

She then went towards the group, with Phoenix and Maya following closely behind her. There was a visible limp in her steps as she walked, but when asked about it earlier, Chun-Li had brushed it off as something that comes with crimefighting and was nothing to worry about.

Still, no one can blame Phoenix for wondering why people like them would stick their necks out like this. Sure, the whole world, no, the _entirety of reality _depended on it, but why did it have to be them?

_"With great power comes great responsibility," _he had remembered her telling him earlier.

_"What?" _Phoenix remembered asking earlier. He wasn't sure about what she was trying to say.

_"With great power comes great responsibility. It's something Peter told me," _explained Chun-Li to her confused friend. _"It's his reason for why he does the things he does. Why he risks his life to fight crime on a daily basis, even when a lot of people back in the Avengers' Earth don't appreciate him, or them as a whole, as it turned out. No matter what they do, Peter told me that a lot of people still shun and distrust them, no matter how many times they've saved their lives, or stopped a global crisis, or saved the universe. He told me, 'With great power comes great responsibility, Chun. It's knowing that you have the power to do good, and using that power for the benefit of others, and not for your own.' Actually," _continued Chun-Li, flustered, _"I've sorta, kinda adapted it to my own philosophy. But don't take it from me; you should hear it from him yourself."_

_With great power sound great responsibility, _thought Phoenix. _Sounds like something a wise man would say. Imagine that_.

"Morrigan," started Cap, and everyone kept quiet to listen. The succubus was silently floating on the other side of the table. She had discarded the bathrobe and was now fully dressed in… well, she _was _a succubus, so an ensemble consisting of a skimpy leotard, stockings, and boots was her idea of what constitutes someone who is properly, fully dressed. With her legs crossed and her hands on her knees, she gladly awaited her orders. "Close the area and keep a perimeter around the bridge. If any Sentinel tries to get out, turn it back or turn it to ash. I also need you to keep an eye out for any civilians that might be in danger, and alert us so we can respond accordingly. You have your communicator on, don't you?"

"Of course, good captain." Morrigan ran her fingers through her hair, and pulled it back, showing the tiny device fitted like a glove in her ear.

"Good," said Cap. Then turning to look at everyone, he spoke, "If Wesker and Doom are doing this to keep us busy, they've got another thing coming to them. Tony, do you have a reading on Wesker's location?"

"Satellite scans are almost complete," responded Tony. "Seems like they're heading east, about ten miles from the bridge. Not too far from here. I'm going in after them."

"Well, damn," remarked Cap. "Then just keep us posted. And while you're there, tell Dante to keep tracking the A.I.M. agents. We'll deal with them as soon as we finish off those Sentinels."

"Will do," said Stark, and his chestplate started to glow. Just then, without so much as a gesture, he rocketed out of the warehouse before anyone could even react, and only a second later did Phoenix and Maya collectively mumble "Wow."

Turning to She-Hulk, Cap continued giving orders without so much as giving Tony a second thought, and Phoenix was left thinking that only he and Maya still found the Iron Man armor to be awe-strikingly cool.

"Jen, I need you on ground level. Smash any Sentinel that comes in your way, and evacuate any civilian that gets caught in the brawl. We need to be aware of our surroundings on this one, so be on the alert when Morrigan sees any civilian in danger of getting caught in the crossfire. She'll be our eyes and ears on this mission, so listen to her instructions and act fast. Take the Hulk with you, you'll need the muscle."

Turning to the Hulk, he simply nodded, and the green behemoth nodded as well in response, seemingly knowing what he needed to do without being given an order.

"Jean," said Cap next, and a woman with flaming red hair, came forward. When she and Phoenix had first met at the Tower, Phoenix wouldn't have thought of her as much of a fighter, as she looked too kind and motherly to be locking fists with criminals and all those things superheroes do. But as it turns out, she really _doesn't. _At least, she normally _wouldn't,_ as Phoenix personally found out from her earlier, while she was healing an injured Tron and Chun-Li. She told him of a darker power that was residing inside her, and to tap into the vastness of her more profound abilities would be to risk letting the Earth be consumed in flames.

_And to think, _thought Phoenix to himself, _I thought she was the most normal person I've ever met here._

"I need you to assist in clearing out civilians," said Cap. "Transport them off the bridge, and shield them from any wayward attack from the Sentinels. Afterwards, pitch in and try to bottleneck the Sentinels into a tight spot with supporting fire so Jen and the Hulk can proceed to indulge in more efficient smashing."

"Understood, Cap," responded Jean eagerly. There was brief pause, and everyone was silent.

"And try not to push yourself too hard," added Cap. "You know how we can't risk you channeling it. No matter what happens, stay on the sidelines and focus and your task. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Cap," answered Jean, meekly.

_It? _thought Phoenix.

"What did he mean by _it?" _whispered Phoenix to Chun-Li, who was standing beside Maya.

"The Phoenix Force, Mr. Wright," she answered, "I'll tell you about it some other time."

_The Phoenix Force? That's probably what she was referring to earlier. The power trapped inside her._

"Hey, Nick, that could be your superhero name," said Maya earnestly. "I can see you on the headlines now, Nick. 'Mysterious Masked Man Saves The Day: Not Your Average Joe! The Phoenix Force Triumphs!'"

Phoenix had fifty different reasons why Maya's superhero fantasies would stay fantasies, and fifty more reasons why he would never partake in them. But as much as he wanted to shoot down his kid of a secretary's childish dreams, even after her pursuit of them was the reason they were in this dilemma at the moment, there was no stopping her. Maya was simply a bubbly force of nature that Phoenix could never control.

Lightning flashed, and footsteps could be heard coming from the outside, followed by the splash of rain water on the ground. A silhouette started to reveal itself, and everyone inside the warehouse was alerted to the coming of an unknown possible assailant, a potential enemy. Under the guise of the dark clouds and heavy rains, the mystery figure came into view. Cap asked aloud that he reveal himself, and lightning sliced through the sky once more. Within the momentary brightness caused by the sudden flash of light, the identity of the previously unknown figure became apparent to them.

Peter Parker, unmasked, fell to his knees. Breathing heavily, he was tightly clutching his right shoulder, as he tried to stop the warm, dark blood from gushing out of the huge, gaping wound below his colllarbone. In his right hand, he dragged what seemed to be a large, grotesque, humanoid being with its head twisted violently and its left arm contorted in a way physically impossible, throwing the lifeless corpse inside the warehouse

Eternity seemed to past before he collapsed onto the floor.

* * *

><p><strong>"You gave us quite the scare there, Petey," remarked Chun-Li, as she ruffled the webslinger's hair.<strong>

"Sorry," remarked the wallcrawler, as he tried to keep a straight face.

The pain of the wound took a huge toll on him, and after subsequently passing out after reaching the warehouse, he woke up with his head on the policewoman's lap, as she was exchanging stories with Phoenix, Maya and Tron in the back of a van currently being driven by a certain masked mercenary. They were traversing the rain drenched New York City streets on their way back to Stark Tower in Midtown Manhattan.

He tried to pull himself up the moment he opened his eyes, but feeling the sting of the hole in his shoulder, he fell on his back once more, and it was only then that he realized where he was and who were with him. "I'm sorry, but... where are we? What happened?"

"Don't strain yourself, Petey," chimed in Chun-Li.

"You passed out, Mr. Parker," said Phoenix, answering his question. "After you got to the warehouse, you fell on the floor, and Miss Aensland closed your wound. It was actually pretty cool."

Peter looked down at himself and saw the he was now wearing a black hoodie over a light blue shirt, and denim pants. He sat up, somehow enabling himself to ignore the pain this time, and lifted his shirt. The whole of his upper torso was wrapped in bandages, along with his right shoulder, all the way down his arm up to his elbow.

"Be careful," reminded Chun-Li, "Morrie only closed the wound; it doesn't mean that it's fully healed. You should know that already by now."

He felt his wound sting again, but now it wasn't as painful as the first time. "I... I can at least move my arm now," remarked Peter, as he rolled his shoulder slowly, "it... it doesn't—ah! Well, I guess it still sorta hurts."

"Hey," shouted the merc from the driver's seat, "I hope you didn't mind me changing your clothes for you! You owe me big time, webhead!"

"Deadpool," spoke Chun-Li sternly, "keep your eyes on the road!"

The car swerved violently to the left, and everyone except Peter fell over inside the van as Deadpool narrowly avoided hitting a lamppost on the sidewalk.

Peter, who stayed exactly in place, was distraught. He turned to Chun-Li, who was just getting back up on her seat, and asked in a low voice, "He wasn't really the one who changed my clothes while I was unconscious, right?"

Chun-Li smiled. "Of course, not, Petey," she said, and Peter felt relieved. Smiling silently to herself, she added, "As if I'd let Deadpool do something I'd rather do personally."

Peter swallowed the saliva that had been forming in his throat in an awkward fashion. He didn't know if that was more preferable or was actually worse.

Meanwhile, Phoenix had other things in mind, and calling out Peter, he asked, "Uh, Mr. Parker?"

"Uh, yes, Mr. Wright?" answered the webslinger.

"Do you know what exactly this thing is?" continued Phoenix, pointing downwards towards the floor.

It was only then that Peter realized the giant, grotesque monster lying dead by his feet. Horribly deformed, it was about eight feet tall standing upright, had large clawed hands and feet, and a huge, wide gaping mouth. Pale in coloration, and with the only other distinct attribute it had was a large, exposed organ, which seemed to be its heart, on its chest, the terribly disfigured monster was inarguably similar in physiology with the Nemesis.

But before Peter could answer his question, their vehicle skidded to a halt, throwing everyone except him off-balance once more.

"What the hell, Deadpool?" shouted an irritated Tron, after accidentally butting heads with the Tyrant as it lied dead on the floor.

"Sorry, folks," said the merc, turning around, "but it appears we've got a boss battle on our hands."

Chun-Li stepped forward and leaned towards the driver's seat to get a better view of whatever was in front of them. Her four companions followed her, and their faces changed accordingly as they saw the carnage that lay in front of them.

At an intersection some six blocks away from Midtown, several overturned cars blocked their path, as a large fire raged on despite the heavy rains that fell that day. But the real kicker was what was in front of the inferno: a large, humanoid monster about seven feet tall, clad in black leather and holding a giant rocket launcher mounted over his shoulder, stood in front of the blaze, and with him stood half a dozen gray-skinned humanoid monsters, each of which possessed no apparent attribute that could distinguish them from one another, except a single, red eye on their heads.

"Oh God," remarked Phoenix, with Maya and Tron thinking the same. "W-what are those things?"

"The Nemesis," said Chun-Li gravely. "H-He... Wesker actually sent the Nemesis here... he would never do that if there wasn't something horribly important at stake."

"If you think that's bad," chuckled Peter, "wait 'til you meet those things he has with him."

"What _are_ those things?" cried Phoenix. He wasn't sure what he was feeling at the time, but to say that it was fear was an understatement.

"Mindless Ones," answered Peter, and his wavered. "Which means that somehow _Dormammu_ himself is backing up Wesker and Doom."

"Oh God," repeated Chun-Li, and her voice trailed off. "W-What now?"

Peter unalarmed, quickly started weighing his options. "Me and Deadpool will stall them as long as we can, while you try to find somewhere to hide in and contact Tony, and if you can, Doctor Strange. Tell them where we are and what we're up against. All of you have been given one of the new communicators, right?"

Chun-Li tapped the device on her ear to show that she had one. Phoenix, Maya and Tron did the same.

"Good. Now go."

"Peter, I'm not going to leave you here," said Chun-Li firmly. "You're too hurt to fight!"

"We don't have much of a choice," countered Peter. "We stay here, we die. Now move out."

"But—"

"Chun, move out."

Chun-Li didn't want to leave them there, but somehow, her body moved forcefully on her own, and with a powerful kick she opened the back doors of the van. Phoenix , Maya, and Tron followed her out, as they ran to a narrow alleyway to their left.

Meanwhile, the Nemesis and the Mindless Ones, having been alerted to the noise, started to charge towards the van, right after Chun-Li and the others had fled.

"Okay, we got their attention," remarked Deadpool in a deadpan tone of voice. "What the hell is step two again?"

"Where's my mask?" asked Peter.

"Under the car seat," answered Deadpool. Peter quickly fished out his mask from under the seat and, and put it on. "Look, if that's your idea of a Step Two, I have something better in mi—"

"Step Two is we ram 'em," cut in Spider-Man.

"Ram them?" asked Deadpool indiscreetly. "As in ram them, head on?"

"Head on."

"I think this van is a rental."

"Just do it," cried an irritated Spider-Man.

"Alright, alright," conceded Deadpool. "But I like the way you think." Stepping onto the accelerator, he added, "Hold on to your butts."

The van went from zero to sixty in under three seconds. In his mind, Spider-Man concluded it was definitely not a rental, as they crashed headfirst into a Mindless One with the van still going full throttle, dragging it some several feet away before it overturned the vehicle. Definitely not a rental.

**End of Chapter 8**


	9. Cornered

**Turnabout Crossover**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9: Cornered<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Phone rings. She answers. Another blonde or brunette or redheaded bombshell on the other line asks if her boss remembers the other night or weekend or week they spent under the moonlight or on the beach or on a private jet or in the Himalayas. She respectfully tells them otherwise and quietly hangs up before the other party answers, then makes a mental note to block the number from the company phone registrar just in case they try again.<strong>

This is just one moment in the life of Virginia "Pepper" Potts.

At least, that's how it used to happen. For the past few months her employer has become increasingly more distant to everyone including her, and has always stayed locked up in his penthouse-slash-office on the top floor of Stark Tower. He has also become more secretive, and sometimes she finds him working late into the night and early into the morning researching things she didn't quite understand and working with devices she didn't quite know how to describe.

He told her about it one day, about how he was a superhero and that he wasn't of this world, and the complicated mess that he and a couple of "friends" found themselves in after an event that he kept on referring to as a "world merger" or some other sort. She laughed, naturally, at the joke. Then he showed her the armory hidden beneath his penthouse, and she laughed no more. Well, she fainted first, and it was only after waking up on the sofa next to Tony, who was watching reruns of _The Walking Dead _while eating a box of Krispy Kreme donuts, did she stop laughing. She started asking, and the questions came pouring out of her mouth like lava out of Mount Vesuvius.

Now here she was, conducting her job as secretary to the CEO of Stark Industries while secretly keeping tab of news reports regarding some unknown individuals fighting giant robots over the George Washington Bridge on the giant, 115 inch plasma TV by the door of her office.

To everyone else, that statement would have been downright silly, or at least, made no sense whatsoever. Especially the 115 inch plasma TV. Not to Pepper though, at least, not anymore. And she longed for the days when it was okay for her to think that superheroes, giant robots and bigger than standard plasma television screens were simply fantasy.

"He said that it should be kept secret," she told herself quietly. "He said that no one should know about them, that they weren't going to do anything that would compromise the secret that they exist and now here are his friends fighting giant robots over the Hudson."

"Excuse me, ma'am, but the design planner wanted to know which wallpaper you wanted," said a man wearing what looked like a bright yellow jumpsuit to shield his shirt from paint. Despite that, there were already several sploshes on his clean, white shirt. "Excuse me, Miss Potts?"

"Oh, yes, right?" Pepper spoke with a start. She had her eyes glued onto the TV the whole time. "Excuse me, what were we talking about?"

"Wallpapers, ma'am," replied the man, who then turned to face the screen. "Ah, yeah. I actually heard about there being supermen here in the Big Apple a few months back. I thought they were just rumors, of course."

"Supermen?"

"Yeah," said the man. "You know, with super powers. Like in those comic books, but I'm sure you don't read those. Anyway, some say they're aliens or some other sort, but me, I think they're superheroes. My brother, he's with the police, says that some of the criminals they catch keep mumbling about some sort of masked men brandishing swords and stuff. Like ninjas, y'know. A lot of the others though, keep mentioning a guy that can crawl up walls and stuff, like some sort of bug."

"Superheroes, really?" asked Pepper. "Well, these criminals are clearly delusional. They were probably just on some sort of drug binge, or maybe they were just drunk. You know how these low-lives are. You seriously don't think superheroes exist, do you?"

"That's what my brother said, too. But seriously, every criminal in New York for the past few months having the same delusion can't be some sort of coincidence if that's what you're getting on about. Besides," continued the man as he pointed at the screen, "now that we're seeing them on live TV, there's no way to deny it now. Superheroes are in New York."

Just then, the door behind Pepper's desk swung open. Another man with a moustache and in a similar outfit came out and called the man by Pepper's desk.

"Hey, Eddie, we need that wallpaper color now," shouted the hairy-lipped man.

Inside the lobby, several workers were paving the floors and replacing busted windows, while quite a number of them were cleaning up scraps of metal and concrete from the floor boards, sweeping them up in large, industrial bins. What looked to be the remains of a vending machine was lying next to where the bottom half of a set of stairs leading to the penthouse on the top floor used to be.

"Oh, right, just a sec," shouted Eddie back. "Yeah, ma'am about the, uh—"

"Anything you have that's periwinkle would do nicely. Thank you."

"Periwinkle? Didn't think Mr. Stark would pick a color like that, if you don't mind me saying," remarked Eddie. "Anyway, if it's not much of a bother, can I ask why the room there has been blown sky high?"

Pepper paused to inhale as the news showed a man dressed in the colors of the American flag pummeling three to four Sentinels in quick succession, while a giant, green, rage monster runs to his aid. _"I_ picked periwinkle," answered Pepper. "And the explosion… it was a gas leak."

"Gas leak? A lot more than that lobby would have been destroyed if that was because of a gas leak. A _lot _more."

Pepper sighed, and the man proceeded to enter the room in the back.

She tried to go back to work, but there really wasn't much you could focus on when the idea that somewhere your boss is blasting killer robots left and right into kingdom come keeps popping in your head. And he had a full schedule of appointments that day, too, the bulk of which has been canceled due to the much more pressing matter of saving the world. Of course, their clients didn't know that, and their disappointment could hardly be contained in the strongly worded letters they had been sending to the Office of the CEO that morning.

Only a single appointment remained though, one that was made just a few moments ago after everything else had been canceled. Pepper sat at her desk, while a blonde woman wearing a pristine white coat and boots sat waiting on the sofa, reading the fashion magazines that were stashed on the rack stationed by the front office door.

Jen Walters had told her to look after the woman, whose name had slipped Pepper's mind but had something to do with Ice or Cold or Freezing or something similar. Perhaps she had ice powers? Probably. They all had powers, Pepper found out, and the ones who didn't don't look any different from everyone else.

"Excuse me, Miss… Freeze? I was just wondering. Do you—"

"It's Frost, dear," answered the blonde woman without turning away from her magazine. "Emma Frost. You're wondering if I have ice powers or something similar, but I don't, and yes, Frost is my real name. Tony has told you about our world, the one I came from, and yes, there are superpowered beings there, and no, Tony isn't just making this entire story up, as you've already seen his friends. Yes, this is what he deals with on a daily basis; yes, all of this is really happening; no, he probably will survive whatever ordeal he's in and so will his teammates. He's not alone, you know. Yes, I am answering all your questions in advance, and no, as much as I'm ashamed to admit it, this is not designer lipstick I am wearing. But it _is_ periwinkle, so I guess that's what caught your eye."

Emma turned to look at her, and then laughed.

"What am I saying? I _know _that's what caught your eye."

"I… I… But how…? How did—"

"Well haven't you realized, dear?" asked the blonde-haired woman as she returned to reading last month's copy of _Cosmopolitan. _"I can read minds. That's my mutant ability. I'm a telepath. Of course, you already know what mutants are since Tony has explained everything to you. I hope you don't mind that I took a trip through your… well, _mind. _Wonderful place, nothing malicious or ill about it."

"Why… well, uhmm... well, thank you. I think."

"You're welcome. Now, would you be a dear and tell me about Jean? Yes, I _could_ just read your mind, but that would hardly be ethical. And I would appreciate the conversation."

"Jean?" asked Pepper. "Oh, Miss Grey. Well, what about her?"

"Perhaps for starters, do you know much about how everyone reacted when they first saw her?"

"Reacted? Well, why would anyone react to her being seen, pray tell?"

"Well, simply put she's dead, dear. At least, she's supposed to be."

"_Excuse me?"_

"Ah, but we must cut this conversation short," remarked Emma, as she stood up and replaced the magazine back on the rack by the door. "It seems you have a visitor. Five of them, actually, but only one matters."

There was a knock on the door. Hard but firm.

"Would _you_ want to do the explaining?" asked Emma, crossing her arms over her chest. "Or would you let me? On second thought, perhaps _I_ should do it. I've been expecting this, after all, since it's what I'm here for. Yes, I actually have been told to expect this, but I would have seen it coming a mile away anyway."

The knocks came louder and louder, until all of sudden they stopped. And as soon as they did, the door slammed open, breaking one of the hinges. Four men in black suits started filing in one by one, and stood in a four-point formation in front of Pepper's desk.

Another man, a rather well-built, dark-skinned man then followed suit and stood in the middle of the formation, with his hands behind his back. He wore a large, black overcoat over a black sweater, black military pants and black boots. His most prominent trait however was the large, black eyepatch that covered his left eye.

"Miss Potts," spoke the man in the middle. "Sorry to break in all of a sudden, but an urgent matter has come to our attention and we need to brief you on what you know. I'm Director Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D."

* * *

><p><strong>There was a sharp, ringing sensation in his ears. He couldn't make himself hear what was happening around him. As he struggled to stand up, a searing pain in his chest ravaged his concentration, and with his sight reduced, everything around him was a blur.<strong>

All he could remember was a fire.

There was a fire around him. A large conflagration crowding the middle of the street, burning bright and hot even under the heavy pouring of rain. He was wet, and cold, and hurt. _Badly _hurt.

A sharp, stabbing pain then came knocking at the back of his head. All of a sudden, he felt himself being tossed about. He felt himself being knocked back by a hard blow to chest, launching him through the air, stopping only when he felt his back slamming into a mishmash of bricks and concrete, stopping him in mid-flight.

He looked up, and everything was still in a blurry haze. He could taste the blood forming a lump in his mouth, and he ripped the bottom half of his mask to spit it out. He then lifted his head up to the sky to wash his bloody orifice. His mouth felt bitter. His face felt numb. And yet he could feel the rain through the mask covering his face, and found it cold and uncaring.

There wasn't anything to celebrate about. Mindless Ones have taken center stage in Midtown New York, and Sentinels are taking over the George Washington Bridge. If anyone was taking score, the heroes were losing and if they lost, so would the whole world. This wasn't a fairy tale, there wasn't going to be a happy ending—not without sacrifice, at least.

And sacrifice was something that he knew best.

So as cars were tossed left and right, and a giant fire blazed on in the middle of a flooded street, Spider-Man urged himself to keep fighting. Of course, most would say it was pointless: these _were _Mindless Ones after all, and nothing short of anyone of Thor's level had the ability to stop one of them, much less take down a whole group of them.

They were unstoppable engines of destruction that could wipe out anything in their path, and anyone short of an Asgardian, or a Sorcerer Supreme, or a green, rage monster, or a man in powered armor taking them on would be tantamount to suicide. Their primary purpose, first and foremost, was to level any opposition in the realms that the Dark One wished to exploit, and demolish everything and everyone that stood against him.

Which is why Spider-Man was wondering to himself, as he dodged under giant fists and jumped over eye beams, while simultaneously trying to ignore the savage throbbing of the freshly opened wound in his chest, why Dormammu would have his most powerful minions run errands.

"Hey, webhead! Focus!" he heard a voice shout. It was quickly followed by the sound of gunshots firing rapidly. "Dammit. Hey! Don't die on me! If you die, who the hell is going to proofread my _1984 _fanfic if you freaking die on me?"

He wiped the lenses of his mask and saw what seemed to be faint shadows moving in unison. Giant, eight foot tall shadows visible through the fire, all of them moving farther away from him. A bright light started engulfing everything, and all of a sudden it was dark again. As the rain grew stronger, the fire in the middle of the mess of three vans, two trucks, a Porsche, two Fords and a Lamborghini started to die.

And suddenly he could see clearly. He struggled to stand up and in doing so, saw the devastation around him. And what's worse was that the Mindless Ones were starting to leave through a dark void that had materialized in the middle of the intersection, carrying whatever they had come to take from them. Near the monsters, he could see a masked figure opening fire on them, with the behemoths uncaringly shrugging every bullet shot.

He struggled to walk forward, and the sharp, searing throbbing in his chest grew stronger and more painful with every step he took. He was going to stop them. Whatever happens, whatever it took he was going to stop them.

His limped walking turned into running, and in the split-second that followed he was sprinting towards the monsters. He shot a webline at the back of the Mindless One in the rear and propelled himself towards the behemoth.

_Fingers numb. Head aching. Loss of consciousness imminent, _he thought. _But I can't let them leave. I won't let them leave. Not until they give back what they took from me._

He delivered the monster a double-booted kick to the face_—_while thanking his lucky stars that they weren't Faceless Ones_—_knocking it sideways. Leaping upwards, he then proceeded to shoot a webline by the monster's feet, and pulled himself downwards, launching himself towards his staggered opponent.

A beam of red energy that came from one of the other Mindless Ones then blasted him out of the air, just as he was about to deliver another blow towards his downed opponent. Another one of the Mindless Ones then caught him by his head as he flew back and smashed his face on the wet concrete below them. Blood continued to run from his mouth and his forehead.

"Dammit! What the hell?" he heard a voice shout. Several shots then rang out in quick succession. The voice then sounded closer, and each word it spoke was punctuated by heavy breathing. "Are you okay, man? Stay with me, pal. Stay with me."

The voice began to fade as his thoughts began to falter. It felt like the voice was coming from some place far away, out in the farthest reaches of the galaxy. He felt himself growing out of touch with everything around him as his senses were turning dull.

_I couldn't stop them._

The pain in his chest started to grow more intense, but his expression failed to change. It was as if he had gotten used to the pain. Or was it because he couldn't feel it anymore? Blood continued to seep from the now gaping wound in his chest into his shirt.

_Whatever they needed those for... I should have… I should have been able to—_

He started to close his eyes. He could still feel someone grabbing hold of him, albeit faintly, shaking him. Begging him to stay awake.

"Keep it together, Pete," cried the voice. "C'mon, man. Keep it together. Stay with me, man. C'mon, for your pal, Wade."

_I can't let it end like this. I won't… I… It's… Why is it so dark?_

He looked around him and like a flash of lightning in the horizon, he quickly found himself in a dark space devoid of light.

* * *

><p>"<strong>Why are you telling me all this?" asked Phoenix, as he gripped an iron pipe firmly in his hands.<strong>

His clean, white shirt had turned into a wet, muddy mess that had several tears and scrapes, and there was small cut on his lower lip. The cuffs of his pants were badly torn as well, while the leather of his shoes has started to recede from being drenched in rainwater.

"Because you're one of three keys to unlocking the treachery that exists behind the world merger," said the young woman clad in a drenched, purple coat. "Believe me, Mr. Wright, when I tell you that you are a crucial part of keeping the cosmic order."

"You know what that sounds like?" asked a bewildered Maya, as she shook off her drenched shirt as it clung to her chest. "It sounds like a bad comic book plot. I mean, it doesn't make sense at all. Nick a key to saving the universe?_Puh-leeze."_

With them, a puzzled Tron voiced out her concern of where the real Maya was, and whoever the impostor was that was with them now. All the while holding a large, sci-fi looking rifle the size of a cannon that spewed out some sort of weird bolt of lightning with every pull of the trigger.

"This is pretty surprising Maya," remarked Tron in disbelief. "Wasn't the reason that you got yourself into this mess in the first place was because you were deluded into playing superhero? You can't possibly tell me that you're over your childish fantasies."

"First of all, ouch," replied the spirit channeler. "You cut it in pretty deep there, Tronnie."

"Oh, uh, sorry," apologized Tron sheepishly.

"You shouldn't be," said Phoenix. "Because someone had to say it eventually."

Maya cleared her throat.

"Secondly," she continued. "This is Nick we're talking about here. Sure, the whole excitement of being in a world where superheroes exist got into my head but now that I've thought about it—"

"—you've realized how silly and unreasonable you were being," Phoenix cut in deeper, "about wanting to be a superhero, and about not taking the ordeal we're in seriously."

"Not to mention immature," added Tron. "Seriously, Maya, you're older than I am."

"She's twenty years old and yet she still acts like she's ten," said Phoenix. "But besides, immaturity is par for the course with Maya."

"Hey! That's not nice," cried Maya, puffing her cheeks. "And the only reason I'm saying this is because I _am _taking this whole thing seriously now. Can't you tell?"

Both her companions responded with a resonating "No."

"But I am," insisted Maya. "I swear to Celestia, I am."

"Celestia?" asked Phoenix.

"Alicorn princess. Long story, I'll tell you later," explained Tron.

"I am, really. And if I _wasn't _dragged into this mess—"

"You weren't dragged, you barged your way into this," corrected Tron.

"—barged into this mess, I wouldn't realize that," cried Maya. She then turned to Phoenix and said, "Nick, you can't possibly believe this. I know you. You've got your feet firmly planted on the ground. To even believe a word of you being some sort of cosmic key to unraveling the mysteries of the cosmos is nothing short of cosmic-level crazy. Just talking about it makes it _sound_ cosmic-level crazy."

Phoenix looked into Maya's eyes and saw the honest reflection of doubt and worry in them.

Of course, she was right for a change. Phoenix doesn't believe one word of what was said to him, about being a crucial part of some greater machination that would allow the universe, no, all of reality to keep spinning for a while longer. Whatever they called it: his fate, his destiny, his purpose in the cosmic web, all that rubbish, he wouldn't have any of it.

He kept telling himself that he was just a defense attorney through and through, and although he can't deny—and has already calmly accepted the fact—that he was actually in another world where superheroes and giant monsters exist, that he would believe that he had an important part to play in the insanity of it all was another wholly unrelated story. And yet—

"Besides," added Maya, as she turned her head towards the woman whose irises looked as if they were a dark shade of purple, despite no way in hell they would be anything normal, "why would you believe that what she said was true? For all we know, she could be one of the bad guys."

Why _did_ Phoenix listen to what she said?

Did it have something to do with how she was able to lift the Nemesis up with some sort of purple energy and smash it into a wall? Was it because she knew all four of them by name when they bumped into her in that rain drenched alleyway? Was it because her irises were rectangular, and were a shade of dark purple?

Or was it because, deep inside, Phoenix knew that she knew more than what she was letting on?

"How do you even know all this?" Phoenix asked her calmly, despite knowing that he probably won't receive a straight answer.

"All of your queries will be answered when we reach the Tower," she responded quite cryptically. She sounded like the Sphinx, whatever the Sphinx would have sounded like when it asked travelers its famous riddle. "For now, you are in no position to be asking questions. That creature could still be stalking us, for all we know. I would have been able to destroy it if only my abilities could be handled by this fragile world, but it could not."

"Why is this world fragile, and why are we even here?" asked Phoenix once more.

"All of your queries will be—"

"No, don't give me that crap!" cried Phoenix, and he grabbed her by the shoulders. Her eyes started to glow eerily, and a strange purple aura started to emanate from her body, but Phoenix wasn't having any of that. For once he wanted to get a straight answer.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wright," she apologized. "But now is not the time. The walls have ears, you know. In this derelict place, where light fails even to make a small glimmer to oppose the mind numbing darkness of the abyss, where hope is seemingly lost and where the trust of allies are constantly being tested and forged, in this derelict place where darkness prevails, the walls have ears. He listens and he waits."

"Who listens and waits?" asked a perplexed Phoenix.

"Is it Dormammu?" asked Tron in a similarly bewildered manner.

"You know of the Dark One?" asked the young woman, pleasantly surprised. Her expression stayed changed for about half a second before it reverted back to her usual poker face. She shook her head. "No, it is not him. It is a being of a much greater power, one who can humble even the Dread Dormammu. An ancient evil who has threatened this realm countless times, and who has now erected a plot that would be able to topple not only this realm but the entirety of reality, as impossible that may seem. This being is not a force to be trifled with, and the only reason why the Caretaker of the Multiverse has tasked me with overseeing that his plans do not come into fruition is because I have a personal stake in this."

"A personal stake?" asked her three companions. "But you're still not answering who he is."

"Yes, a personal stake. He has deceived my father into becoming an unwilling pawn in his plans and so I have presented myself to the Caretaker of the Multiverse in order to save my father," she said further. "This being, his name has been known to strike a lingering fear in the hearts of those who know it, and in the wake of his carnage, songs that sing of the destruction of worlds have been sung by the hollow voices of those who await their demise, or worse, those who shall soon be enslaved by his dark veil of anguish and despair."

Her voice started to falter, and a small whimper could be heard escaping from her lips.

"I dare not speak his name, for the walls have ears, and with each passing moment his name is spoken by the followers of the Old Ones, his power grows and his patience wears thin," she continued. "Simply know this, Mr. Wright: you are one of three keys to preventing the end times. I do not know how or why, but it is written in the old scriptures and books of the cosmic beings whose omniscience are anything but boundless. This being, He Who Sleeps But Shall Soon Awake, The Withering Devourer, The Unclosing Eye, when he comes, this world shall sing songs of the end times, and with it all of reality shall sing songs of its doom, and nothing even the most powerful of beings, not even The One Above All can do anything about it."

There was a sudden calming silence that endured afterwards, with only the sound of raindrops falling breaking the quietness of that dark, decrepit alleyway.

A storm had come, and the rain seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment. Phoenix didn't even mind the cold now, as he leaned on the wet, concrete walls that lined the backstreets of that urban jungle. He just wanted to go home, refresh his thoughts and keep himself from driving himself insane with how vast and limitless the universe is, and that no matter how much humanity tries to understand it and traverse the outer reaches of it, there will always be an infinite number of goalposts it'll have to surpass just to be able to receive the next objective.

A lost cause, if you will call it that.

Maya and Tron weren't any less thoughtful about it, and all three of them were glad that at least Chun-Li was spared the brain racking ordeal that they had forced upon themselves. The Interpol agent had sat to the side, her stamina slowly being drained as her injuries had begun to sap the last reserves of strength that she had left. She had been trying to contact help for the past half hour now, and for some reason that could only be blamed on how much the universe loved to screw with its inhabitants, she couldn't get a signal.

"Sorry for asking," said Tron afterwards, after a long pause that seemed to span millennia.

"It is alright," said the woman acceptingly. "I just wanted you to understand that this predicament is not for the faint of heart. This is not your standard hero versus villain conflict, and by all means, I'm not even sure if this is the right way of approaching it. But what I know is that I cannot face this alone, not without sacrifice, and not without your help. Help from all of you."

It was then that it had struck Phoenix, as lightning cut through the sky. There was a reason to everything after all, a reason behind every decision made and every incident instigated. There are no accidents, so to speak, because even accidents do not happen without reason. They may not be intended reasons, but they are reasons nonetheless.

"So it's you, isn't it?" asked Phoenix, with a smile on his face.

"What do you mean it's her, Nick?" asked a confused Maya.

"The reason why we're here," explained Phoenix towards his two companions. "The reason why we… 'cross over' was the term, correct? The reason why we cross over, it's because of you, whoever you are."

The young woman smiled. "Right, Mr. Wright."

"The bad guys," continued Phoenix, "Doom, Wesker, Dormammu, they're not here on their own merit. They're here because of that being you're opposing, whoever _that_ is. They're just pawns being used in a game of cosmic chess, and so are we. You're using us."

She shook her head, still smiling. "Wrong, Mr. Wright. I've read the books and the scriptures, spent days and weeks of my time trying to understand each and every intervening strand in the web of fate and conflict. It was never my choice to make, never was and never had been. Even my decision to attempt to preserve reality for the selfish reason of saving my father was only made to seem like my decision, yet in the end I never really had a choice."

"And neither do we, huh?" asked Tron, condescendingly.

"So we work _our_ behinds off trying to save the universe and the entirety of realities while the higher-ups just sit on theirs watching us jump around," asked Maya irritably. "How is that _fair?"_

"It is not, but there is nothing I can do. They don't have a will like humans do, they do not have goals nor do they have priorities. They do not have their own reasons for wanting to exist. They're just _there. _Phenomenal cosmic powers, the ability to shape the fate of entire universes and dimensions, wasted by the inability to act on their own free will. There is such a thing as a downside to knowing and being able to do everything."

"Do we even _have_ free will?" asked Phoenix. "You said you read the books and scriptures, you know how every strand connects. If the future is already written in stone, if the future has already been cast in iron, then why should we bother? It's like watching a movie when you know how it's going to end."

"No, it is not," she answered back. "It is like watching a movie when you know _it is going to end._ Which is every movie ever made. Nothing lasts forever. The possible outcomes of every decision every human has ever made are written in the strands of a web Mr. Wright, not etched on stone, and they do not form a straight line. Do you have any idea how many strands intersect, and intervene, and cut through one another? Omniscience gives you the ability to know how everything _might _turn out, not _how exactly _they're going to turn out. Written in the books are every single possible outcome of this venture, and you can only imagine, no, even you might not be able to fathom, how many of those there are. The strands are being woven as we speak, and no one, not even the One Above All, knows how _exactly_ everything will turn out."

"Wait," said Tron, "weren't you just saying a while ago that you didn't even have a choice in all this, and now you're saying that the decisions to be made are to be made by us, and that we _do _have a choice in the matter."

"It hurts so much to think," cried Maya.

"The nature of the universe at work," she remarked. "You _do _make the choice, but the choices are pre-rendered. Of course there _are_ billions of choices to be made, if not an infinite number. And of course, infinity is limited in itself."

So that was it, wasn't it? Just a confusing, out-of-touch conversation on the nature of life, the universe, and everything. Phoenix can't help but think if there was a way to put them out of their misery.

"You're being overly cryptic," he told her.

"But I am only saying what is true," she explained to him. "There is more to be said, and for the time being, those are to be disclosed only when the time is right."

"Then won't you tell us your name? Tell us at least that. You saved us, and we're grateful for that, but we can't trust you if we don't even know who you are," asked Phoenix.

The young woman then bit her lip, as if to ponder whatever good thing would come of her telling her name. And then—

"Gabrielle Lilac Talbot," she told them condescendingly.

"Is… that your real name?" asked Phoenix.

"…No, it is not. You shall know of my true name when we reach the Tower," she said bluntly, and Phoenix gave up.

"That's too long for a fake name," remarked Maya. "How about we call you Gali instead? The first two syllables of Gabrielle and Lilac make Gali. Fun, isn't it? Making up names, I mean. I call Nick Sonic sometimes myself. You know, like the hedgehog. Because he has hedgehog hair, you see."

"Maya," sighed Phoenix. "Why do you insist on explaining your jokes?"

"At least it's better than your 'Why am I, Phoenix Wright, am never wrong?' routine," countered Maya.

"Shut up! We promised never to speak of that," cried Phoenix.

"I can't help if it I'm better at making jokes than you," replied Maya. "Right, Gali?"

The young woman who would for now be known as Gali looked pleasantly surprised. She nodded and smiled. Perhaps for the first time that day.

* * *

><p><strong>Tony Stark was a skeptic in a world where he interacted regularly with magic users, gods, people who were somehow able to survive being trapped in ice, and people who were either part demon, or made contracts with demons, and for some reason the ones who made contracts with demons looked possibly more demonic than the ones who were part demon. It was something that bothered him a lot, but that wasn't what was important at the moment.<strong>

What _was_ important at the moment was that the black Chinook he was trailing that was carrying one of the most dangerous men in the world had disappeared without a trace, as he was blinded by a mysterious beam of light that had suddenly come out of nowhere.

The next thing he knew, he was the only thing in the sky, besides a family of geese who should know better than to fly in a rainstorm.

"What the hell just happened?" asked Tony aloud, bewildered. "What the hell just happened?"

"_Should I run diagnostics, sir?" _asked JARVIS. _"You seem to be spazzing out, if you would forgive the term."_

"Now is not the time for wisecracks, JARVIS," said Tony irritated. "Run a scan of the area. Check for anything, magical or technological, any trace of where they could be and how they could just suddenly disappear in thin air and out of sight of my radars."

"_Scan complete," _said JARVIS almost immediately. _"That is strange."_

"What is?" asked Tony. "Would you mind letting me take a look, buddy?"

"_The anomaly seems to be of a demonic nature, sir," _explained JARVIS, as results of the analysis popped into the interface screen in Tony's helmet. _"There are faint traces of mystic energy of an unknown source, and the physical manifestation of the area has shifted significantly, rendering the possibility of a portal being opened here highly probable."_

"Scan the area and make a note of that energy signature," ordered Tony. "We'll run an analysis of it back home to see if it matches any of our previous encounters with portals and gateways. If Wesker has somehow found a way to manipulate gateways to his advantage, we'll have an even harder time of tracking his whereabouts."

Just then, the sound of a phone ringing suddenly drowned out the noise of rainfall.

"_A call for you, sir," _spoke JARVIS. _"Should I patch it through?"_

"Patch it through JARVIS."

The voice came through the helmet's speakers as clear and loud as daylight. Not that daylight could be heard, but, anyway—

"_Mr. Stark, Dante here,"_ spoke the voice. It sounded more out of breath than Deadpool that one time he ran all the way to the nearest Taco Bell branch when he heard they were selling chimicherrychangas for a limited time offer. That was after his scooter broke after he threw it at a heckler on the street. _"You're not going to believe this, but the A.I.M. troops—"_

"—suddenly disappeared while you were blinded by a sudden burst of light?"

"_Yeah,"_ agreed Dante, not in the least bit surprised that Tony finished his sentence. There has been more than one instance of that happening, more than enough for him to get used to. _"But there's one other thing: whatever kind of magic trick that was, it was demonic in nature. Some form of high level demonic temporal shifting."_

"JARVIS and I have already come to that conclusion," said Stark. "Whatever it is, we have to—wait, how did you know?"

"_Half-demon, remember?"_

"Yeah, but about it being a high caliber mystic mumbo jumbo?"

"_When Jean once asked us to organize the books in your library, I found this Arcane Arts book that was filed in the wrong section,"_ explained the demon hunter. _"It had a section on demonology and demon magicks. I could detect one kind of demonic energy that I've read in the book emanating from the place as soon as the A.I.M. convoy disappeared, but the rain washed off the scent before I could find out exactly what could have made it. But whatever it was, it was powerful."_

"Well, don't worry about it," reassured Tony. "JARVIS got the signature before it could dissipate. We'll run an analysis back at the Tower to see if it matches any other energy form we've encountered."

"_Sir, incoming transmission," _spoke JARVIS suddenly.

"Another one?" asked Tony. "Patch it through JARVIS."

"—_to all points. Deadpool to all points. Can anyone read me? Over."_

* * *

><p><strong>Chun-Li couldn't believe her ears.<strong>

She was ecstatic at first, since for the past half hour she tried every possible network she could manage and yet she couldn't patch a connection with any of their allies. None of the four of them could, but then all of a sudden a transmission came through from Deadpool that was being sent to all points, and they all heard it, but none of them could respond.

"_Deadpool to all points. Deadpool to all—"_

"_Chun-Li here. Deadpool, can you hear me?"_

_"—to all points. D-Deadpool to all points. Can anyone read me? Over."_

"Mr. Wright," cried Chun-Li towards her companions, "they can't hear us."

Phoenix , Maya and Tron then tried their communicators, but to their disappointment Deadpool still continued call out if anyone was receiving his transmission. No one could hear them, but for some reason they were able to receive that transmission. Something was jamming their signal.

Then Tony came onto the line.

"_Iron Man here, reading you loud and clear. Your transmission is being sent somewhere some 500 yards from the Tower. What happened?"_

"_Mindless Ones happened, Shellhead. We were… we were en route to the tower when we were ambushed by Mindless Ones. Webhead and me held them back while… Chun-Li and company escaped through one… one of… one of the alleyways with the Nemesis on their tail. We haven't had contact with them since."_

Tony's voice then suddenly turned slightly frantic.

"_Where are they? Where's Peter and why isn't he the one reporting this to me?"_

Chun-Li held her breath. There was something ominous with the way Tony asked the question, as if he was already assuming the worst. But there was no reason for her to think that, right?

"_Peter…"_

Deadpool's voice had cracked, and there was a slight trembling in his words, with the way he enunciated the word _Peter. _Deadpool's voice _cracked._ Deadpool's voice _**cracked.**_ It was enough to drive someone crazy, thinking about whatever horrible, terrifyingly inhuman thing had happened to make Deadpool lose his cool and for his voice to break.

And sure enough, it was something Chun-Li would never want to hear. Not in a million years. She knew sacrifice. It was something that all of them knew best. But there were a few things she would never want to part with, even if it meant she would put the fate of the universe teetering on the edge of the abyss.

"_Spider-Man is down. I-I repeat, Spider-Man is down. Requesting immediate extraction. I don't mean to pressure you, moneybags, but we're going to need immediate fucking extraction now. I-I'm not sure how long he's going to last."_

Tears formed a puddle in her eyes as she broke down crying.

And for the longest time, everyone was silent. They weren't sure if everyone was hearing this. They weren't sure if Cap and the others were hearing it, because if he did, he probably would have broken into a shitstorm of bad language. And you wouldn't want to see Captain America angry. You would never like him angry.

Tony too, simply because he wasn't really averse to anger, but at that time he didn't sound angry. He was just there, hovering in mid-air on the other line, not sure how to react.

Deadpool made sure he knew how.

"_Don't you fucking hang up on me. Don't you fucking hang up on me. Talk for God's sake. The man is dying, if that wasn't already clear to you. Goddamit, Tony!"_

"_Alright… alright. I-I'll... We'll—shit. Dante, are you still there?"_

And the demon hunter, who had been silently listening the whole time, spoke. If this was some other transmission, he probably would have exchanged insults with Deadpool on the other line as soon as he heard his voice. Why didn't he, this time?

Maybe he knew already. Maybe he could sense it in his voice.

No one could say.

_"Still here. I know. Just give me the coordinates and—"_

"_No. You go after Chun-Li and the others. For some reason they aren't responding. For all we know they could be in serious trouble themselves. I'm tracking down their coordinates through their communicators, and I'll send the information to your phone."_

"_But I—"_

"_You have your orders. Follow them. Deadpool, stay where you are. I'm coming after you, so keep him alive as long as you can. If he... if he dies on your watch, you'll be answering to me."_

End transmission.

* * *

><p><strong>Phoenix walked towards Chun-Li, as she buried her face in her hands, and knelt beside her. He wanted to say that everything was going to be okay, that she didn't have to worry. That everything was going to be fine, but he couldn't.<strong>

He wasn't sure what the right thing to say was. He wasn't sure if there _was _anything that could properly be called the right thing to say.

But someone else did.

"He's not going to die," said the young woman who was to be temporarily known as Gali.

"How do you know that?" asked Chun-Li, with her face still buried in her hands. "Y-You don't know that, so p-please, if this is—"

Gali put one hand on Chun-Li's shoulder and repeated her words more clearly.

"Peter Parker will not die, I assure you," she continued.

Everyone turned to her, as if she had done something so amazing that no one has ever been able to pull it off. Their reaction was equivalent to seeing a diver jump from a jet into a swimming pool while doing a high-altitude, triple barrel roll. There simply was no other way to describe it. Chun-Li lifted her head up and looked her in the eyes, as tears streamed down from her own. There was no emotion in Gali's eyes, no feelings. There was no remorse, no fear, no pity. There was nothing in her eyes.

Nothing but the truth, it would seem. And some sort of warmth that emanated even through the cold sheet of rain.

"Why do you… How do you know him?" asked Chun-Li, teary-eyed.

Gali knelt in front of her and wiped the tears from her face. And for the second time that day, Gali smiled.

"Peter Parker is the second key to unlocking the treachery behind the world merger and saving the multiverse," she answered, smiling. "I assure you, he will not be dealt with so easily."

Just then, her eyes started to glow an eerie shade of purple, and the smile disappeared from her face, just as suddenly as it had appeared.

"The enemy is upon us."

And just as suddenly, the wall behind them burst open, as a behemoth clad in a black leather coat carrying a rocket launcher roared an unholy guttural growl. Chun-Li and Phoenix were easily tossed to the side, as Maya ran towards them. Meanwhile, Tron raised her weapon and started blasting the creature as it charged toward her. A purple aura started enveloping the Nemesis as it drew closer to Tron Bonne, and like a rag doll the monster was swiftly tossed towards the hole from where it had broke out from.

Gali walked towards the dazed creature as it staggered to stand, and pointed an open palm towards it. Her hand glowed with an awesome power.

"You will bother these people no more, monster," she spoke menacingly. "Your path ends here."

At this point, if this was a fairy tale, the whole scenario would have ended on a merry note, with the heroes escaping with their lives and with the monster losing his, and everybody would live happily ever after. If this was a horror movie, the monster would be able to horribly mutilate each and every one of them, with some sort of final girl having a final confrontation with the beast before either escaping with heavy casualties or dying herself. Film logic dictates that that person would be Phoenix, if this were the case.

Of course, it was neither. They were all firmly in reality, and reality was firmly trying to screw them over.

So as Gali pointed her palm at the Nemesis, ready to blast the behemoth to kingdom come, the purple energy emanating from her hands started to flicker, and for the first time that day, a look of absolute horror appeared on her face.

As she was left in a daze, the Nemesis was able to regain its momentum and in one, swift blow, the creature delivered a powerful backhand that sent her flying towards a nearby lamppost, denting it.

Maya quickly ran to her as she staggered to her feet.

"Gali! Gali, are you alright?" asked Maya, as she slung Gali's arm over her shoulder. The purple-eyed woman struggled to stand up as Maya propped her up on her shoulders. Tron ran towards them, tossing her weapon to the side, and assisted Maya in supporting their new ally. And friend.

To their left, Phoenix was carrying an injured Chun-Li in his arms.

"We need to get out here!" cried Phoenix, as the Nemesis winded up for another attack. It then charged towards them like a mad bull, flailing its tentacles wildly in their direction. There was no escape. He was too close now, and any sudden movement at the moment would only prove to be a futile attempts to evade what could not be escaped.

Just then, a bright light appeared out of nowhere, blinding them in its radiance. A scream pierced the skies, and as suddenly as it had happened, just as suddenly darkness swallowed that decrepit, forlorn, rain drenched alley once more.

Maya was now scattered on the muddy, concrete floor, while Gali leaned on the lamppost where she took a devastating blow just a few feet northward, wincing. Phoenix was tossed to the side. His right ear was now bleeding from being hit on the head sideways, and Chun-Li was draped on top of him, conscious, but hurt. _Badly _hurt.

The rain grew stronger, as Tron Bonne and the Nemesis were suddenly nowhere to be found. The storm had come.

* * *

><p><strong>There was no reason for Peter Parker to not believe in hell. He was friends with a half-demon after all, although he wasn't sure if he was <strong>_**that **_**kind of demon. Then there were those who he knew derived their powers from demons like Ghost Rider or the Hood, who were very much reminiscent of hell. Hell, Wolverine had been to the place once, and he even toppled the Devil, or so he says. Bottom line is that there was no reason for Peter Parker not to believe in hell.**

But as he walked in that dark void of a place, if it could be called a _place _at all, as he wasn't sure what it was since it was as black as night in there, if ever he was _in _someplace… anyway, as he walked in wherever he was, he couldn't help but wonder if he was in hell.

Of course, he was expecting the kind of fire and brimstone hell that pop culture had told him was what hell actually looked like. Somehow, it hasn't occurred to him to question himself on whether he was actually dead, and why he would go to hell when he died. It seems that everything had escalated so suddenly and events had happened so fast that he hasn't had time to think at all.

Then in the darkness, as was customary, there was shimmering light shining bright just within his field of vision. He started to run towards it, believing it to be some beacon of hope in this mind racking darkness.

But a lesson needs to be learned here, and what better lesson should be more appropriate than one from the fable of the moth who went too close to the light of a lamp and burned? Light does not always equate to good, as darkness does not always equate to evil. Sometimes the darkness was good, the light was bad.

And this particular light was particularly evil.

"Are you enjoying your stay?" asked the flame-headed being at the end of whatever pathway he had been traversing through for what felt like hours.

"…Dormammu," remarked Peter, in a voice that concentrated so much venom in one word that it could kill a human being on contact. "It _is_ you."

"I don't think I've ever had the honor of meeting you formally," spoke the Dark One, smirking. "And I doubt that you have ever been graced by the presence of one as grand as that of the Dread Dormammu."

"Where am I?" demanded Peter. "What is this place?"

The Black One unleashed a bellowing laugh that could shatter bones.

"How rude of me," he remarked. "Where _are _my manners? The Dread Dormammu simply must not forget to make his guests comfortable."

"Where _am I?"_ demanded Peter once more.

"Welcome to the Dark Dimesion… Peter Parker."

**End of Chapter 9**

* * *

><p><em>"Did you die, Daddy?" she suddenly asked him when he finished.<em>

_"Did I what?" he asked her, completely deadpan._

_"You died, didn't you?" she asked him once more, tears forming in her eyes. Her lips started to tremble. "My poor, poor Daddy, dying before his time. How can the world be so cruel?"_

_"Uh, Trucy…"_

_"Don't worry Daddy, I'll avenge your death," she then cried defiantly, raising her fist up towards the ceiling. "That monster is going to pay for your death, Daddy. I'll make sure of it. I'm going to make him disappear and he's never coming back!"_

_He suddenly glanced at the clock on the table in the middle of her tirade, and saw the time. It was three in the morning._

_"What the—it's been that long?" he exclaimed._

_She, in turn, suddenly stopped her rant and looked at the time herself._

_"Trucy, it's way past your bedtime."_

_"But, but," she objected. "But I want to avenge my daddy. I want to know what happened next."_

_"Maybe some other time, kiddo," he told her, and he switched off the light of the lamp on top of her bedside table. He reached over to the right of the desk and turned on a night light in the shape of the Steel Samurai. "I promise, I'll tell you another time."_

_"Promise me, okay?" she told him from under the sheets. "Promise me you'll tell me. And that you didn't actually die. Promise me, okay, Daddy?"_

_"Promise," he told her, and kissed her on the forehead. "Night, Trucy."_

_"Nighty night," she replied, closing her eyes. "Nighty night, Daddy."_

_He walked towards the door and took one last look at her. He held the doorknob, his hands trembling as a single tear was shed from his eyes, and he shut the door behind him._

* * *

><p><strong>END OF ACT I<strong>


	10. The Girl with Kaleidoscope Eyes

**Turnabout Crossover**

* * *

><p><strong>ACT II: BLIND LEADING THE BLIND<strong>

* * *

><p><em>"Remember when you told me that story when I was a kid, Daddy?"<em>

_He had been studying the room they were in for quite some time now. There was a sort of nostalgic essence that overcame him once he stepped foot inside it. It felt like a home he's been longing for, yet took far too long to find._

_"What story?" he asked her, without averting his eyes from the sky blue-painted walls, and the eggshell white ceiling._

_"You know what I'm talking about, Daddy," she insisted. "You're just messing with me. Remember on our first night? The day you adopted me, you told me a story."_

_"Oh," exclaimed Phoenix, pretending not to know what she meant. "You mean _that _story?"_

_She stuck out her tongue at him. "Don't try to mess with me, Daddy. I want to know what happened next."_

_He seemed perplexed at her request. "I can't remember where we stopped, to be honest."_

_He actually does remember. After all these years he still remembered. He promised her, after all._

_"But, but," she mumbled. "You promised me you'd tell me, Daddy. You promised."_

_"I did, didn't I?" he muttered, his hand rubbing the back of his head as he let out a weak laugh._

_She then proceeded to sit down on the bed, and he sat down beside her._

_"Well, first of all I didn't die," he started._

_She blushed. "Daddy!" she exclaimed. "I was eight, okay? You didn't need to remind me of that."_

_"Sorry," he apologized, as he patted her on the head. He was laughing much more naturally now. "I—well you, actually… you made me promise to tell you I didn't, remember?"_

_"Then tell me what happened next."_

_As he was about to begin, a figure suddenly appeared by their doorway and stayed there. A man of middle age as it seemed, sporting a rather well-sculpted beard and dressed in a very sharp suit, walked inside. Both men came up to each other and shook each other's hand._

_"It's been too long, Mr. Wright," spoke the man._

_"It really has, Mr. Stark," he assured him, and he grinned a big, goofy smile._

_The man then noticed the young girl sitting on the bed, who was now staring at him confusedly._

_"And who might this be?" he asked, while patting her on the head._

_"I'm Trucy. Trucy Wright! " she told him. She then suddenly grabbed his hand and shook it. "Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Stark! Daddy says you build really cool armor and stuff. Would you mind showing me them sometime? Pretty please?"_

_He smiled sheepishly, as the man turned to look at him, confusion evidently engraved on his face._

_"This is my daughter, Trucy," he said with clarity. "Sorry if she's a handful."_

_Stark took his hand and, with an even bigger grin, shook it once more while exclaiming, "It really _has_ been too long, Mr. Wright."_

_The man then crossed over to the windows on the other side of the room and looked outside. Light shone brightly through the curtains as he turned around to face his guests._

_"So, what's going on here with you?" asked the man._

_"Daddy was just telling me a really great story about you and your friends," she answered pluckily._

_"He was, was he?" asked the man once more. The man then turned to him and asked, "Where'd you stop?"_

_Phoenix thought for moment. "I think I'm at—what was it? ...You know, that part where the Nemesis curb stomped me, Chun-Li and Maya, Tron went missing, and Peter became tr—"_

_"Ah. I see. Wait, here's an idea," suddenly interjected the man, as he glanced at his watch. "I'm not needed in a while since they'll be busy readying the transport downstairs. So how about I tell the story for now? I mean, you didn't do much after that. Now me, on the other hand..."_

_He was surprised at the Stark's proposal. "I still remember what you guys did after that, you know. But I guess it is better if you're the one explaining what happened afterwards. Well, if it's okay with Trucy, then—"_

_"Of course!" she cried happily. "One storyteller can only tell so much. I want to hear the whole thing from everyone!"_

_"Alright then," spoke Tony. He then walked towards the bed where father and daughter were and, leaning on the wall adjacent to them, started, "If your father hasn't told you yet, it was the 15th of December then, and Christmas Day was only a few days shy of a week left. But that same day…"_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10: The Girl with Kaleidoscope Eyes<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Something fell. Either from heaven or Earth, something fell that moment. And while we went about our lives uncaringly, as specks of dust in an unfathomably wide universe often do, none of us could have ever anticipated the God forsaken atrocities that would happen in the following months.<strong>

I swear, I don't want to think about it.

What I can say though is that bad things happen when the balance shifts, and the world we're on, one that was already teetering precariously over the edge of the abyss, threatening to take the whole universe with it, was very dangerously close to falling off the slippery slope.

Plus, there were still a lot of things we didn't understand, and a lot more that we thought we did, but didn't. At least _I _thought we did, but as your father can attest, I've been knocked off my high horse too many times to be stubborn about things that I only think I get. Prove me I'm wrong and I will graciously accept my mistake and we can move on from that point.

Unless _she_ was the one doing the proving. At least, at first.

That night, there was a lot on my mind. I guess your dad already told you all about it: Spider-Man was in intensive care after suffering through a fatal beating and taking an energy blast to the face; your dad, Chun-Li and Maya were in the infirmary as well after being stalked through New York by the Nemesis; Tron had gone missing, they didn't know where she was at the time; the neighborhood where Spider-Man and Deadpool held off the Mindless Ones was decimated, there were no casualties but several civilians had been injured and a lot of property damage was sustained; and finally, George Washington Bridge was in shambles, and although luckily, or rather thanks to Steve's team, there were no civilian casualties, but as you can imagine the collateral damage caused by the attack was tremendous.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was keeping the events under wraps by making a cover story about the attacks being acts of terrorism and telling Capitol that the recent attacks on the city were being investigated by the organization personally. Of course, having happened in New York, people weren't too happy with that announcement, and if they had found out it was a lie, they would have undoubtedly been furious. But if they knew the truth, if they knew what those attacks really were and what was at stake… there's no telling what would have happened.

Lastly, and most precious of all, there was still the issue of what to do with our favorite daughter dearest_._ It happened some three hours before I was brooding by myself at nine o'clock that night.

* * *

><p><strong>I didn't trust her.<strong>

I didn't trust her more than Steve Rogers distrusted telemarketers. There was just something off about believing the cosmically-powered daughter of the cosmically-powered being you were trying to oppose, who as far as you knew was the reason behind the whole dilemma you were facing. We hardly knew anything about her. She was a complete mystery to us, and as far we knew she could just be a smaller, younger and hotter version of her father, the World Devourer.

"I don't see the point of watching her from here," I told the skunk-striped, goatee sporting fellow beside me in the old, gray suit. "For all we know, she could hear us from here just fine, so I don't see the point of hiding."

"But she cannot. I assure you that she cannot," he replied back. "For every time she uses the Power Cosmic, it drains her reserves of energy, further increasing the burn rate of her metabolism, and more than likely will renew her hunger. And as I've told you before, she will do everything in her power to prevent that from happening."

"And for some reason you believe that she's going to keep herself in check and _not _destroy the world?"

"If she were intent on doing that, or rather, if she did not care about the fate of the world, then she would have been able to destroy this merged Earth the first time she came within reach of this planet's atmosphere, just from the sheer energy discharged by those who possess the Power Cosmic," argued Strange. "You know how fragile this planet, nay, this whole universe is. Which is why we—"

"I know, I know. You don't have to remind me every time that because of this universe's instability, constant, blunt discharge of stronger than normal bursts of concentrated, weaponized energy can cause a tear into the very fabric of space-time that's large enough to cause a full-scale, universal quantum shift, enabling reality to collapse upon itself and take all of us out along with it," I sighed. "Which is why we keep people like you, Thor, Jean, Ammy and Morrigan in check, lest all of you using the full extent of your powers cause the Earth to implode. "

"You had no need to speak of the whole thing aloud like that."

"I remember things better when I talk aloud," remarked Tony. "Anyway, if we're gonna deal with her, I would have preferred that you wore your kung-fu wizard duds. I'm wearing my armor, as you can plainly see, because I'd rather not be in a position where Galactus' little girl force chokes me or something. I suggest you do the same."

"Believe me when I say there will be no need."

"And believe _me _when I say that I'll know it when I see it. I'd rather be safe than sorry," I told him. "But, if I could change the subject... how's Peter doing?"

"Not good," he responded. It was about to get worst. "He lost a lot of blood. The wound in his shoulder is too large to be closed with conventional magic, and to heal the wound and replace the blood he lost would mean either Jean, Aensland or I would need to delve into a deeper form of healing magicks which, I'm afraid to say, are one of those higher forms which we must restrain from using lest we accidentally destroy the world. The Iron Fist, Danny Rand, might have been able to perform the procedure himself with his chi, but as he is on an assignment, there is no way we could summon him."

"I don't get it. How come you can still perform teleportation spells and shoot arcane bolts, but healing magic can be enough to crack the world?"

"Because healing magicks sap power from a different source than the conventional magic I use with my own energy. They consume the reserves of a mystical lifeforce that is interconnected with all beings through the red strands of fate, and thus allows them to—"

"Yeah, if you're gonna go all pseudo-mystical on me with your magical mumbo jumbo I'm not going to understand anything," I cried. "I'm a scientist after all. So yeah, sorry for asking, but if the exposition is gonna take a while, I'd rather hear it later. But what I want to know is if Peter is going to pull through."

His lower lip quivered. "Of that, I am not certain. Aside from the blood loss, the wound ripped through the bone and muscle within his chest, with his right shoulder suffering heavy tears in the ligaments. We may be able to stitch through the torn muscle and skin, and with his healing factor we may only need to set the bone and they would be able to repair themselves. But the suddenness of the damage he sustained would be our greatest obstacle, since the trauma might actually be the one that will do him in, despite the fact that he would be able to heal all—"

"Don't say that."

"Apologies, but I'd rather be blunt than bring up false hope. There is a substantial chance that he might not survive."

"And what am I going to tell Mary Jane when we get back to our Earth? 'Sorry, MJ, but we couldn't bring Peter back with us'? I can't go back there if we'll be leaving allies to die here."

There was a silence that endured quite a while afterwards.

"I've heard Chun-Li, Maya and Mr. Wright have already checked out," I said a little while later, breaking the eerie quietness around us. It was my fault that silence came about after all.

"Chun-Li is all right, considering she took quite a beating. We all know how tougher she is than she looks," he replied.

"She does like to remind us a lot, doesn't she?"

"Mr. Wright is even more surprising though," he continued. "Aside from the superficial gashes and lacerations, all he sustained was a sprained ankle. Considering he was trashed about by the Nemesis it is quite a feat. On the other hand, aside from the small cuts and bruises, Maya only suffered a fractured wrist. Her right hand will be in pain for a while, but there is nothing serious beyond that."

I was relieved. "Good to hear it," I told him. "By the way, Cap is debriefing Emma at the same time we'll be interrogating our dear daughter cosmic, right?"

"Yes, he is. I'd actually like to hear what she has to say, since we've already confirmed that she did not come from a gateway, as energy pulses are completely absent from her person."

"Plus, the disturbance we detected when we found her location didn't match with any of the pulse readings we've known to associate with any gateway," I agreed. "Is there a chance that she's, you know, a Skrull or clone or whatnot?"

"No," he assured me, "Physical examinations, fingerprint analysis, voice recognition, biometrics... everything checks out. Plus, the distinct physiological and biological characteristics we've known to detect from Skrulls when they change form, and especially from genetically-engineered clones don't show with her. She's the real Emma Frost."

"Alright, I trust you with that," I said, nonchalantly. "What I don't believe is what you're saying about _her."_

"What she will speak of is the truth," he told me, irritatantly, with his arms crossed over his chest. The daughter cosmic could be seen through the one-way mirror in front of us, on the other side of which she sat at a metal table in a small, darkened room. What he said surprised me a lot.

"What?" I asked him bluntly. I really couldn't see, let alone understand why he said that. As far as I was concerned, this girl can and will make a meal of this planet the second we had our backs turned. "You don't seriously believe her, do you? Look, Stephen, maybe those months you've spent in the _Sanctum Sanctorum_ messed up your judgment. Have you even eaten anything yet? Maybe you haven't had much sleep? Because that girl, the girl inside that room, she's Galactus' _daughter. _The freaking daughter cosmic."

"My stay at the _Sanctum Sanctorum _has not clouded my judgment in any way," he answered, sternly. "In any case, it has opened my eyes to something of a greater magnitude than what we've encountered so far. The very reason why I came back now is because I had been informed of her coming. All we need to know, the truth, everything, we can only learn through her. Without her, all is lost."

I was dumbfounded. At a loss for words. Flabbergasted. The whole of existence was at the brink of destruction and Galactus' little girl would be the catalyst that could help us stop multiversal armageddon.

"Ammy, thoughts?" I asked the young lady who stood to my left, beside me. She was always so quiet that I almost forgot she was there.

She was a young woman of average height, clad entirely in a white kimono that had dark red accents, while a dark red sash was tied around her waist. There were red, swirly markings painted on her face, hands and bared shoulders, while her neck and wrists were adorned with various beads and jewels. Her hair, which was as white as the driven snow, had a small, red flower tucked neatly into it, and her eyes were as golden as the embers of a bonfire. A pair of dog ears that were protruding from the top of her head twitched as I turned to asked her.

_"...Dog ears?" asked the little girl._

_Phoenix and Tony stared at each other a good while before nonverbally agreeing how to go about explaining it._

_"It's because she's…uh," mumbled Tony, before analyzing whether the sentence 'She could turn into a dog... no, wolf,' sounded a little bit too absurd._

_"I'll tell you later," Phoenix told his daughter, realizing how hard a time they'll have later when introducing Rocket Raccoon. Stark nevertheless continued, troubled by the thought._

"Ammy thinks that we should hear her out," a voice blurted out. I looked down towards her shoulder and saw a tiny, bouncing green bu—er, sorry, I mean _wandering artist, _looking up at me.

"You sure about that, Issun?" I asked once more. He nodded. I then looked at her, and found her staring at me, nodding her head as well. I then turned to Strange and asked him, "All right, I trust that you know what you're doing."

I then lead the way towards the door to the room she was in. I held the doorknob for perhaps a full minute, my hands shaking, before turning it and gently pushing the door open.

I didn't trust her. Honestly, I don't want to. But with absolutely _everything_ on the line, if salvation lied with her then I didn't have a choice.

* * *

><p><strong>"It's coming," she spoke softly as we entered the room.<strong>

"What is?" I asked. "Are you going to say 'The End is Nigh?'"

We sat down across from her, and I crossed my arms over my chest.

"I was," she confessed. "Was it too obvious? Perhaps something a little more subtle would suit your taste."

"Galacta," Strange interjected, "we need you to tell us what you know."

"Stephen Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme," she then said. "I believe we've met once before."

"I do not recall."

"I was a child then, so I would not assume you would remember. Also, I prefer to be called Gali, if you would not mind."

"It seems you've taken a liking to that name," asked Strange.

"Yes, I have," she agreed, and she gave one of the warmest smiles I've ever seen. "But that is not what matters now. You are all here to learn what truths I am to reveal. What has the Living Tribunal told you about me?"

"He simply informed me of your coming," answered Strange. "He told me that salvation lied within you. Rather melodramatic, but the Living Tribunal does not use words lightly. For him to insist that the fate of the multiverse lies in what you know, it would be a grave mistake not to believe you."

She leaned back on her chair and crossed her arms.

"Then please inform Mr. Stark that he should not act so condescending towards me."

"He already did," I informed her. "Look, I'll trust you because you can help us, but no more. So state your business, daughter cosmic, and then we'll consider if whatever you say will be of any use to us."

"Why must you act this way?" she asked me.

I looked her in the eye and said:

"I fail to see how a being of your supposed intelligence doesn't understand what I'm trying to say, so I'll say it straight: it's because you're the daughter of Galactus. It's because your father has threatened to eat my world more times than AMC has shown reruns of _Mad Men, _even now that we're on an unstable Earth whose destruction will catalyze the complete and utter annihilation of all of reality. You do understand, don't you? He wants to eat this planet even if starts multiversal Armageddon."

"It is you who should understand. My father is merely a pawn; he is not acting on his own accord," she spoke. "He knows not what he is doing, and therefore he is not the enemy that you perceive him to be. The true enemy, the one who we must oppose, is the one responsible for this deceit in order to further goals that I have yet to learn. It is because of this that I need to save my father."

"There's also that," I told her, rather condescendingly. "I'm rather doubtful of your reasons. Mr. Wright told me that you confessed to doing this for a personal stake. You're doing this only because Galactus is involved."

"And Mr. Wright might have also explained to you that due to the nature of the universe and the concept of choice, taking on this herculean task was not my decision to make."

"But you're not denying that you're doing this simply for your father?"

"I am," she answered, rather sternly. "It just so happens that unfortunately, my daddy issues coincide with the fate of the universe. I hate that absentee father of mine. I despise him, even. Perhaps as much as you humans do. You antagonize him, demonize him, and treat him like some sort of monster, and I cannot blame you for I have been doing the same."

"Then why are you doing this for him?" asked Strange.

"Like I've said, his fate ties directly with the fate of—"

"No. I mean, why are _you _doing this? What are _your _reasons?"

"Is my reason relevant to why I am in this room, being interrogated?"

"It helps me not think of you as a threat," I let her know.

She sighed.

"Very well. I could always just remind you all that without my father, the being Abraxas would come forth from his incarceration to lay waste and sow destruction upon the universe."

She smiled.

"But of course, the true reason is much more compelling. It is because… my father is a necessity." She then turned to Strange and said, "You of all humans should know that. In the vastness of the universe, none are like my father. Not even me. He was there when the universe began, and shall be there when it ends. He is a force of nature, a being who does what he does and causes so much destruction and death in the universe to keep himself alive. Why? Because no matter how many planets he ravages, nor how many civilizations he destroys, in the end he is destined to give back to the universe—infinitely so much more than what he has taken from it."

She then turned to me and said:

"That is not a personal reason born of emotions and spontaneous reactions. That is what any rational, sentient being would decide when faced with the dilemma of either preserving or destroying a being of ultimate importance such as my father. My reason was not born of a desire to protect my father, but is rather due to my desire to preserve the universe, of which my father is only coincidentally involved. Does that answer satisfy you, Mr. Stark?"

Was I prejudiced? Yes, yes I was. But was it justified, my prejudice? I'd like to think so. Here was a young woman of dubious morals who could destroy the planet with her bare hands on a whim. Yes, I was prejudiced against her father because of what he does, even if it was for some greater good in the long run. And in turn I was prejudiced against her because of what she was. Her father's daughter.

But understand that I'm doing is because of my own desire to preserve this world. It may not be the Earth I know, but something tells me this Earth wasn't just some parallel world to the one I knew. I could feel it.

"It does, somewhat," I told her. "But you should understand that I'm not just going to step aside and let him eat this world."

"You and I both, Mr. Stark," she told me. "There are things about this world that will surprise you."

"Like how this world is a time bomb waiting to explode, and this universe is an abomination that inexplicably appeared out of nowhere, doesn't really exist and shouldn't even exist, and is now threatening to destroy itself for disturbing the natural order of things, taking out the whole of reality along with it?"

Her eyes opened wide.

"Did I leave anything out?" I asked her confidently.

"Yes," she told me, crossing her arms. "Everything that made sense, in fact."

"What?"

"Apologies," she said, mockingly. "I am no good at sarcasm. What I meant to say is that you are completely wrong with your supposition. Everything about it did not make sense to one such as I who knows the truth."

"What did you say?" I cried. She was really getting to me, I'll admit.

"Tony, calm down," said Strange.

"Don't misunderstand, Mr. Stark," she said. "I've read your research on the history of this world and its universe. Very factual, and you were able to piece together all the minute details, correctly even. It just so happens that you're wrong. That is to say, you came to the wrong conclusion about this world and the universe in which it resides in."

"What are you getting at? And when did you have the time to read my research? You've been in this room since Dante found you with Mr. Wright, Chun-Li and Maya."

"Please, Mr. Stark. Don't sell my abilities as short. I have several ways for getting around since after all, I am… what did you call me? The daughter cosmic? Yes, I am that," she said. "Your hostility towards me is starting to be unbecoming of you."

She stood up and slammed both of her hands on the table. If it was anyone else, I would probably not have hesitated to Unibeam them to kingdom come once they started to get aggressive. She... Gali, just stood there, her lips quivering, anger evident on her face, but sadness was blatantly showing from her eyes.

"I am not my father, I can assure you of that. Yes, my diet does consist of the biomass of living organisms, and like my father I am susceptible to the cosmic hunger. But I am not your enemy, nor am I a force of nature like my father who, though he has no quarrel with sentient beings and other living things, still feeds on them to survive."

She paused for a bit, and continued:

"I share not his destiny to give back to the universe infinitely more than he has taken from it, but I do have a purpose which, I dare say, is greater than his. I have been tasked with preserving not just this universe, but all of reality. I have been tasked with defeating an ancient evil that has been plaguing the multiverse for as long as it had existed. I have been tasked with fulfilling a prophecy billions of years in the making. And most importantly, I have been tasked with seeing all of it through without fail, for failure would mean the cessation of all of existence. I am shouldering this herculean task on my lonesome, but I know I cannot do it alone. I brought all of you here to the world that gave birth to everything in existence because I have been bestowed by the scriptures and beacons of the Celestials the knowledge that I now possess, and according to it, I cannot triumph over my enemies without your help. This place where it all began, I brought you all here because it was written that I will not do this alone. I ask not for you to trust me, but I do ask for you to help me, Mr. Stark. We are bound together by a common goal, and as such I see no reason for us to quarrel, because only through our combined strength can we even have the chance to defend reality and everything that exists. Only through an alliance can we even hope to battle those who oppose us. So speaks Galacta."

It was then that I realized it. As powerful and all-knowing as she was, she still just a child. A young woman who as far as I knew was separated from a father who didn't care for her and whom she grew to hate, and now finds that she is part of a prophecy that has her involved in protecting said father. And if you knew how the universe works, it only starts to get worse from there.

"Now will you listen to me?" she asked, sincerely as she took her seat. Her eyes pleaded to me. Her glowing, purple eyes.

Was I prejudiced? Yes, admittedly, I was. Was I wrong about her? Yes, I guess I was, although the prejudice and paranoia I had against her didn't wane as fast as you would think. But then and there, she made me understand. If we were to fight against one another, then we would accomplish nothing.

"Alright," I told her. "You have my full attention."

And I mumbled something that sounded like an apology. I wasn't really sure, myself.

Strange and Ammy both looked at me and smiled. And then were snickering just a little while afterwards. I was left wondering if they found it funny that I actually knew how to apologize or because I didn't. I never really cared much to ask them.

"Now, what was it about this world being—"

"—the birthplace of everything?" she cut in. "It's simple, really. This planet is the progenitor of all. Which is what makes it a very important piece to solving the most important puzzle in existence."

A moment of silence came afterwards.

"A little bit of elaborating would be nice," I told her.

"Oh," she exclaimed. "I'm sorry, it is just that this whole conversation is playing in slow motion for me. Yes, this planet is the reason for the existence of everything. The first Earth, and more broadly, the first planet is this one. As such, all other planets are derived from it."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You theorized that this Earth is unstable and erratic because it was never meant to be," she told me. "But you are wrong in that regard. This Earth was the first planet ever created, and was made as a template from which every other planet in this universe would be derived from. In turn, the multiverse was created when parallel versions of this Earth and all other planets were created and placed into parallel universes. Because this Earth was the template from which the multiverse, and by extension, all of reality was derived from, every universe has been designated the monicker of Earth plus an alphanumerical code."

She pointed towards me and said:

"For example, your universe is designated as Earth-616. This universe is in turn designated as Earth-TRN177. But that is besides the point: all you need to know is that this Earth was the reason for the birth of everything in existence."

"Are you saying that this Earth is some sort of Earth Prime?" asked Issun.

"No," she answered. "It is the Earth Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last. It has been here from the birth of existence, and shall be there at its end." She then turned to me and Strange, and said. "In your arrogance, you humans see yourself as special in the grand scheme of things. You see yourselves as if you were at the center of everything, but I am here to tell you that your perception is not entirely unfounded. For unbeknownst to you, you humans were the race that the Celestials thought worthy enough to inhabit the planet that gave birth to existence. Though it does not make your actions any less haughty, if I may state an opinion."

"Then why is it designated with a random code like TRN177?" asked Issun once more.

"This universe, and especially this Earth, is more precious than anything else in existence," she answered. "Mr. Stark was correct when he said that its destruction would mean the end times. If you were to hide and protect something of such grave importance such as this, would you have designated it as some Earth-Prime, or Earth-Alpha, or Earth-Zero, thus making it stand out, or would you have called it something less suspicious, like the seemingly random designation of TRN177?"

"True," agreed Issun.

"But there's still the matter of the unnatural anomalies that have been occurring since the beginning," added Strange.

"According to my research, this Earth is falling apart," I told her. "Not just this Earth, but this whole universe is seemingly unstable and erratic. There are multiple shifts in its minute structures, particles are being deconstructed at a quantum level in steady rates, and there are several instances where there have been fluctuations in the natural displacement of space-time dimensions. There are too many deviations from the natural flow of the universe that it's hard not to think that reality itself is trying to tear this universe a new one."

She looked at me with fear in her eyes. It was something I never thought I'd see in any god-like being, much less the daughter of something like Galactus.

"That… I cannot say without endangering ourselves," she said. She looked straight into Strange's eyes and said, "The walls have ears, Sorcerer Supreme. In this dark space devoid of light, he listens and waits. You know who I am speaking of."

Strange's eyes widened in disbelief. "It… can't be. I see. The disturbances I've been feeling since the beginning… so there's a good reason why I can sense them. So it is him who we are ultimately facing."

"Who?" asked Issun, obliviously. "I'm not following this. And can we turn on the lights here? It's kind of creepy in here with you guys talking so ominously like that."

At first I kept on wondering to myself how peachy keen it was with her suddenly clamming up because of some sort of disturbance in the force, or something. I'm not good with metaphors. And just when things were getting juicy, everyone just suddenly stopped for fear of some eldritch voyeur listening in on our conversation. Just then, I could feel my face lightening up like a bulb. That was when it hit me.

I turned to Ammy and told her, "Ammy, would you mind turning on the lights?"

She looked at me, perplexed and with her eyebrows crossed, before she came to understand what I meant. Maybe I shouldn't have been too vague with the way I worded my request. Anyway, she then nodded, and from her sleeve she pulled out an enormous paintbrush. Gali looked at me confused for a moment. But only a moment, before she then realized what I was planning. Ammy then took the brush and pointed it towards the ceiling, and with a single stroke, drew a circle in a counterclockwise direction.

The room then illuminated with sunshine. Bright light swallowed the room and everyone in there felt a special kind of warmth that couldn't be described with mortal words. As the brightness started to dissipate into a more tolerable level, Ammy then looked at us, smiling, before taking her seat.

"Pretty smart thinking, Stark," remarked Issun. I couldn't have said it better myself.

"What was that?" asked Strange.

"Do you still feel it?" I asked him "Do you still feel that the walls have ears?"

"No, the energy… the malevolent energy dissipated," he answered. "At least in this room. What was that?"

I cleared my throat.

"That little maneuver is called Sunrise, a Celestial brush stroke," I explained. "Good at prolonging daytime, dispelling darkness, and achieving a tan. As the sun goddess, Ammy here can use it at its most effective and powerful form. Whoever this entity is that you're too afraid to talk about, even he won't be able to pierce through pure, blinding sunshine as long as Ammy's here."

I then leaned towards Gali, and asked:

"Now tell us, who is it that we're up against?"

She inhaled, and the feeling of elation on her face was evident. It was if she had been restrained for far too long and only now has had the chance to free herself.

"He-Who-Sleeps-But-Shall-Soon-Awake, The Great Old One, The Withering Devourer, The Unclosing Eye, Chtma-Gorath, Cthuma-Gurath… _Shuma-Gorath,"_ she spoke. "He is the one causing the imbalance in this world, making it unstable and erratic. All of it is being caused by presence of his… heralds, if you would call them that: the man named Albert Wesker, the man named Victor von Doom, the abomination known as M.O.D.O.K., the Skrull warrior Kl'rt who goes by the moniker of Super-Skrull, the demon-like human known as Akuma, the demon lord Dormammu, and the demonspawn called Vergil."

"Wait, we didn't know the Super Skrull is in on this. We've never seen him here. And Akuma hasn't even showed himself since the beginning," remarked yours truly. "Logan, Ryu and Laura have been on his trail for months and have never encountered him once. And about Vergil, he's only shown up recently. We don't know what exactly he's planning."

"And what about Magneto?" asked Strange.

"All the details I possess have been derived from the beacons of knowledge that the Celestials have possessed since time immemorial that foretold of these events," she explained. "All is written there: I have absorbed all knowledge that I could gather from it and now have worked out every possible permutation and every probable outcome that could be weaved onto the web of fate and things to come. As far as events come to pass, all the information I possess on my person are entirely accurate. However, they will be subject to interpretation."

"So you've become some sort of seer?" asked Issun.

"Somewhat," she answered. "It is hard to explain."

"Would you at least try," he asked once more.

"I believe that the term seer is partially applicable to me, as through the prophecies I have studied from the beacons, I am able to preemptively predict future events in relation to our ordeal. That is, I am able to predict _every _future event in the web of things to come. I know everything that is to possibly happen, and through the partial web I have woven, depending on events that have already transpired, I may be able to foresee the future using the knowledge I've gained from the beacons by eliminating the least probable outcomes and integrating the most possible events through the results of previous endeavors."

"But..."

"But unfortunately, they are not concrete," she spoke sadly. "They are prophecies after all, and all are open to interpretation."

"We'll worry about your prophecies later," I told her. "What about Magneto, the Skrull and Akuma?"

"For now, I know nothing of the mutant Magneto, the demon Akuma, and their whereabouts, nor what the Super Skrull has been up to in the last nine months that he has not made an appearance. All I am sure of are that the former is not part of this treacherous alliance, and the latter two are."

"And you're sure of that?" I asked her.

"Positive."

Everyone fell silent, as we did our best to absorb the information overload we just suffered through. It was a while before I got to thinking about other things. Mainly:

"So, if Shuma-Gorath is their benefactor," I realized. "Then you're—"

"—yours. Correct," she confirmed. "As I have already mentioned, I am the reason why you are here. The decision was not made by me, you must understand, but it is what the beacon has foretold I would do in a number of possible, interwoven events. It would be rather mind-racking for all you if I were to explain it this moment. You only have to trust me for now, that the decisions I made are not without reason."

"Wait a minute," I cried. "This isn't the first time this has happened. This is the third time… the third cycle, and it's been happening for years. But if you're saying that the reason we're here is you, does that mean that all those other times—Onslaught, Abyss, Apocalypse—those were because of Shuma-Gorath? That this ordeal has been happening for so long? That there was something happening in the background, something underneath the surface... and we've been completely oblivious to it for so long?"

She seemed thoughtful for a moment. "I cannot answer that, at least, not now. For the meantime, it is better that we do not stray off-topic. Certain revelations are unhealthy if it is not the time and place for them."

I had so many questions. So many things that I didn't understand. But I knew they had to wait. There's a reason for everything, there are no accidents—we kept repeating those words to ourselves because it was the only way to keep ourselves sane. This ordeal, once you get the gist of it, is frightening to think about. If we lose, if we had failed... we would have lost everything.

So sometimes we just had to pretend that there was a pretty good reason why we were doing the things we did, why we were sacrificing so much. It was because we knew what was at stake. We needed to force ourselves to believe there was a good reason reality was trying to screw us over. Because in this line of work, kiddo: the world, the universe… everything only made sense when you force it to.

"Alright. Still, I don't see how Galactus factors into all of this," I told her. "Also, since you were the one who sent us here, then you would probably be able to enlighten us on the nature of the gateways."

"There is, as well, still the issue of what Shuma-Gorath wishes to accomplish through his actions," added Strange.

"The gateways are... a rather complicated matter," she answered. "Also, what Shuma-Gorath has to gain is something I know not as well. It is a mystery to me as it is to you. What I do know is that he has deceived my father into attacking this planet. We all know that since this planet is the progenitor of all planets, its destruction would be the catalyst that would cause a chain of devastation and annihilation throughout the universe. It would seem that with his current actions, that event would be his desired outcome, although how it would benefit him is beyond my rationalization."

"Yeah, but you're making it out to be a little too simple," I told her.

"How so?" she asked me, confused.

It was time for me to ask the obvious question. "I mean, how do you get a being like Galactus to play into the palm of your hand? How did Shuma-Gorath do it?"

"Simple," she stated, as-a-matter-of-factly. "He gave him a target."

* * *

><p><strong>I came across a peculiar game of chess as I made my way from the interrogation room to the second level of the residential wing. As I stared at the pieces, it was obvious that whoever was playing red was only three steps away from winning. And that made me think deeply about our situation. Which is funny, because I don't think much of chess.<strong>

But to be reminded that at any moment my opponent could be no more than a few moves away from a win was nothing short of frightening for me. That was something that I didn't want to happen in this ordeal. I wanted to get ahead. I needed to plan things out, think about my moves in advance, and create a strategy... I needed all the advantages I could get my hands on. It was a fight for the soul of the multiverse, and I wasn't willing to lose. I didn't even want to think about what would happen if I lost.

God, it was depressing.

Just then, my phone rang. I flipped it open and answered the call. It was Pepper.

_"Tony," _she said, _"Your seven o'clock just finished. Captain Rogers and Miss Frost have come out of the meeting room, and Captain Rogers wants to see you. He assumes you're finishing up now."_

"Tell him I'm just about done," I told her. "What about Chun? Has she come out yet?"

I could hear her covering the receiver with her hand while she talked to someone. I never really found out who it was she was talking to, but she came back a short while later and said, _"No, they say she's still locked herself inside and that she shut the door pretty tight. I feel bad for her, Tony."_

"Don't worry," I reassured her. "The best we can do is leave her alone for now for her to calm down on her own. Pitching in might only aggravate her further. Besides—"

There was something else that Gali told us before we each went our separate ways. Something about the world merger. Something about there being some sort of treachery behind its creation. After she told us about this world being Earth-Zero, the progenitor of worlds, I had come up with the conclusion that the reason this world and the universe it's in seemed like an amalgamation of worlds and universes was because it was the first, and such, it had the combined, unique qualities of all worlds. It logically made sense.

I was wrong again, of course. It really is a merged Earth, at least, that's what she told me before she left the room with Ammy. She told me that this world was originally a world devoid of uniqueness. A blank canvas, if you will. Perfectly normal, and with nothing supernatural about it. And if you've been paying attention to your dad's story, you'll recall that that was my very first assumption.

When Gali tugged at my armored arm and told me that, she also told me of three keys to unlocking the secrets of the world merger. Why it was important wasn't apparent at the time, and you'll learn about it soon enough, anyway. The important detail however, is that she told me Peter is one of those keys. That Peter would be okay, and that I didn't need to worry about him. She told me he'll be fine, before she walked away.

And so I told Pepper:

"—I think Peter will be waking up soon."

_"Tony, false hope isn't going to help. I mean… I'm in his room right now. Everyone else is, too, actually. His condition is stable—"_

Stable. There's a word I hate. When doctors say 'stable', they actually mean 'can still die but we'd rather not think about it, and so shouldn't you'. I hated that word.

Because truthfully, nothing is ever stable. Everything changes.

Except war.

War. War never changes.

"—_but the doctors are saying... I mean, I would really be glad if he were to wake up soon, but it would be better if we didn't… Tony, I hope you know what you're saying."_

"I do. Oh, and Pepper?"

_"Yeah?"_

"Sorry for everything and thanks for everything."

_"Huh? What for?"_

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry and apologize for everything I did wrong, and thank you and show my appreciation for everything you did right. I just… feel like I've been jerk to you… and the whole human race, at that."

_"I also called her a thing. Along with every human on the planet. Did your daddy tell you about that?"_

_"Yeah, he did."_

_"Good. Then I don't have to explain myself."_

_"You wouldn't be Tony Stark, otherwise."_

"Very funny."

_"You're welcome,"_ she said, mockingly. _"But seriously though, thanks. I appreciate it."_

There was a slight pause before she came up again, and said:

_"Well, you should go meet Captain Rogers. He said he'll be in the library."_

"Will do."

I closed my phone and put it back in my pocket. Surely she wasn't making it all up. Gali, I mean. She wouldn't, because she had no reason to. And there's a reason for everything and stuff and... no matter how tiring and repetitive it seemed, we needed to push on. Giving up wasn't on the agenda. It never was, but it seemed so much like the easier option that anyone with a weak disposition would have given up just for a chance to be in peace.

Peter wasn't one to give up, and so I had to emulate his example. Gali said he would live, and all I could do was to trust her. I needed to grab every ray of sunshine that I could, and regrettably, I did.

I also didn't go into the library that day.

* * *

><p><strong>That night, there was a knock on the door of my penthouse. I was busy then with decrypting the blueprints Jill had sent along with her report on Wesker's pet project that I didn't realize how late it was. To say that his project was depraved was nothing short of an understatement, but something about it felt off. Like the whole project didn't feel like it was something he'd do. Or at least, there was an element missing that because it wasn't there, it didn't feel like it was a master plan he had spent months on end making. As I walked towards the door I happened to glance at the clock on the wall. It was a few minutes past nine in the evening.<strong>

I opened to the door to find a rather unsettling sight.

"Steve, sorry I forgot I was supposed to meet you about Emma," I muttered frantically. His head was hanging like a drunk man's, but I knew better than to think that he came to my office drunk. He couldn't even get drunk, actually. "Good thing you came like you did. JARVIS was just—"

"Tony."

"—decrypting Jill's report on Wesker—"

"Tony."

"—and to tell the truth, there's a lot about this project that—"

"Tony."

"—didn't make sense. To begin with, it has—"

_"Tony."_

"—an eerie... yeah? Oh, right. You first. So what did Emma Frost had to say? It's still really—"

Steve then grabbed my shoulders with both hands. It was only then that I noticed his face.

"Steve. You're crying."

He mumbled something, and with the only light in the room coming from the porch where my desk was near, I didn't quite see his lips move. There was only the sound of his voice muttering something under his breath.

"What did you say?"

He repeated, his voice much clearer now. I felt my eyes open wide. I didn't understand what had happened then. I didn't understand what I did afterwards that night.

I swear I don't want to think about.

But I remember waking up the next morning hungover. Pepper was at my bedside, putting away the bottles of wine and vodka by the foot of my bed. A lot of them were broken, shattered messes. I was one, too, actually. Pepper held my right hand—which was hurting and covered in bandages, and I swear I don't remember why—and told me that everything was going to be okay. I lashed out at her, but I didn't mean to. She knew that I didn't.

She didn't blame me for it; for making her hope, I mean. I wanted to say sorry, but nothing came out of my mouth. All she could say in turn was how everything was going to be okay. I didn't like it, but I didn't blame her if that was all she could say. After all, I didn't know what to say either. I didn't know if there was anything that needed to be said, really.

But I wanted to ask her how everything would be okay. I wanted to ask her how the hell everything was going to be fine.

I mean, how in hell was everything going to be fine?

_Peter Parker is dead._

**End of Chapter 10**


	11. Tenebrae Vincunt

**Turnabout Crossover**

* * *

><p><em>Why do you have to die to be a hero?<em>

_It's a shame a legend begins at its end_

_Why do you have to die if you're a hero?_

_When there's still so many things to say unsaid_

—**Judas Priest, **"Heroes End"

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 11: Tenebrae Vincunt<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Lying on his bed, Phoenix had spent the night looking at the eggshell-white ceiling above him, now all too familiar in its entirety. There was a bad taste in his mouth, but now he knew it wasn't from the bad bottle of grape juice that had spilled on the red rug by his bed. As the bottle rolled from his dangling hand, clinking as it hit the wine glass scattered clumsily on the floor, he couldn't help but be overwhelmed by being reminded of what was at stake.<strong>

His tie, which he hadn't even worn, was lazily draped over one of the bedposts like the day before. His coat was indifferently thrown by the foot of the bed, and his shoes were stashed somewhere he couldn't quite remember.

Phoenix rarely drank. Truth be told, he hated alcohol. The only time he ever even willingly drank was the time Mia bought him authentic Japanese rice wine in celebration of him passing the bar. And he grew to like the taste of it, he admits to himself, and it was the only exception to his aversion to anything even remotely alcoholic.

But as he lied on his bed, wide awake, he finds himself longing for the taste of it. Grape juice wasn't cutting it, and he needed something stronger to make him forget, at least for a little while, everything he's been through since the day before. And everything that he'll be going through in the days that will follow.

Or at the very least, he hoped that a drink would knock him out and put him to sleep.

He had been awake since the night before. They all have.

Except Maya. She was knocked out cold to the left of the bed. She was such a child some... _most_ of the time, her actual age besides the point. She had wanted to stay up all night with him, but tuckered out an hour and a half before midnight, and when Phoenix saw her she was already lying on the bed, waiting for him to tuck her in.

Just then, there was a knock on the door.

He slowly sat up, did a few stretches, and walked towards it. Turning the handle, he slowly opened the door.

"Can I come in?" she asked him, and he swung the door open. She walked inside, not minding the empty bottle and spilled juice on the floor. She walked towards the windows and parted the curtains.

He had expected the sun to savagely blind him with its intense light, but it didn't. He instead found himself staring outside, marveling at the sight he saw. She leaned on the windows as he walked towards them and stood behind her, finding himself smiling. It was snowing.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she asked him.

He didn't say a word. He didn't know what could and shouldn't be said in times like these. He was completely at lost.

"This was his room, you know," she told him, "but he moved out when we found you, since they weren't finished with the renovations in the left wing and you and Maya had no place to stay in."

He tried to look for words to say.

"Then I remember him noticing how perfect the view of the outside was from this window," she continued, and pointed outside. "I mean, look at that. The buildings frame the sky perfectly from this window, and the sun rises from such a beautiful angle that you can't help but smile just looking at it shine. It's just so _amazing."_

He tried to think of things to tell her. So she would forget. So she wouldn't fret.

"Then he mentioned offhandedly how nice it would be to see the snow fall from this window. I'm not sure if he was deliberately baiting me, but I remember myself blurting out that I wanted to 'watch the snow fall from that window!' He told me to tell everyone else, so that we could all watch it, so I told them. But it looks like they all forgot."

He couldn't think of anything to say.

"Dante and Deadpool are out at the shooting range. Heh. Boys will be boys, I guess. Morrigan was sent someplace I'm not too keen of. She'll probably come back in time. I know her, I know she wouldn't go back on promising that she'd see it. I wouldn't want to bother Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers. They're busy, I'm sure. There are a lot of important things at stake, you know? Silly me. Of course you know."

He cringed at that.

"They took Tron, and I don't know why. But she used to work for them back then, so I guess that's it? I guess they would want her back. Threaten her, force her to join them again. I'm sure Tron would say no. I'm sure she'll find a way back to us. She's not a kid anymore, and if ever push comes to shove, Jill is there with her. I'm sure they'll find a way. Once we get the chance, we'll strike back and get them home, if it ever comes to that. We already alerted the guys stationed at Raccoon City, so I'm not that worried about them."

She sighed, and her hands shook as she held onto the window sill. She smiled as she continued, nevertheless.

"Jean is reading a book in the library. I wonder what it was? I should probably borrow it from her when she's finished, you know? Pull up a chair and sit by this window. I'd just read it while the snow fell outside. Wouldn't that be nice? I mean, if it's okay with you, Mr. Wright. This is your room now, after all."

Her hands, now curled into a fist, started to shake.

"Miss Chun-Li..."

"No," she mumbled, raising her forearm to her eyes, "no more tears. Dammit. I don't... I don't believe it. Why do I... why do I keep on...?"

"Chun-Li..."

"He's not dead," she told him, covering her eyes. "He's not dead. Right, Mr. Wright? I trusted her. She told me that he isn't, and I'm going to believe her no matter what they say. Because... because it's all I can think of to do."

He sighed, then smiled halfheartedly.

"I guess it's all we _can_ do, sometimes," he told her, reassuringly. "Sometimes, all we can do is to just sit and wait. I know it's frustrating because you'll feel like you can do so much more, but the truth is that sometimes, we just have to give people our trust and hope for the best. Hope that they make good on their promises."

She lowered her arm and faced him. Leaning on the window sill, she smiled, while crossing her arms over her chest. She was wearing a plain, white shirt and blue sweatpants. Her hair was tied in a single bun behind her except for her bangs, which were parted neatly in the middle, framing her face.

"Yeah," she agreed, smiling now, while wiping the tears that had wanted to escape from her eyes. "I guess you're right."

Just then, all of a sudden a phone rang:

_*Hush now, quiet now, it's time to lay your sleepy head. Hush now, quiet now, it's time to go to—*_

_Click._

"H-Hello," she spoke as soon as the phone was brought close to her mouth. She seemed surprised by the voice. "Yes... Now? Which terminal... Four. Yep, right... Uh-huh, yes, he's with... Oh. Right, right… Alright, I know… Thank you."

She then quickly stowed the phone into her back pocket, and inhaled deeply.

"Who was that?" asked Phoenix, noting the sudden change in Chun-Li's mood.

"Mr. Stark," she explained. "He asked us to pick up a few friends down at the airport. It shouldn't take too long, though."

"Us?"

"Yeah," answered Chun-Li, perplexed. "Something the matter?"

"Well, I," began Phoenix, worriedly putting his hand on the back of his head. "I really don't think I'm—ow!"

"What are you talking about, Mr. Wright?" she asked him as she playfully punched him in the shoulder. "You're one of us, now. Don't ever think otherwise."

Phoenix didn't want to believe her. These people weren't like him. As much as he knew struggle and conflict and hatred and suffering and sacrifice, he only experienced those words at an extent that would be easily dwarfed by how these people knew them.

These people knew war. These people knew death. These people knew hatred, and conflict, and loss. They know it to an extent that Phoenix couldn't possibly fathom, despite admittedly, he had come face-to-face with these words perhaps on a level more than any other ordinary man ever did. He knew them, didn't he? He knew what loss and suffering and sacrifice were, and as time and time again would prove, he would be subjected to such extreme conflict and misery that any other man in his place would have broken down a long time ago.

But Phoenix wasn't just any other man. He may not know pain and fear as his new companions do, but he knows them nonetheless. Perhaps, it was in that fleeting moment of acceptance that Phoenix realized that his words will never suffice to mean what he truly wanted to say.

How much he appreciated the idea of being accepted, of being part of a family. How much he wanted to thank them, and her especially, for making him feel welcome. How much he didn't want to believe her, but he did, nonetheless.

He could never tell her in words that would suffice.

"I guess I am," he told her, smiling cheerfully. It was the little things that mattered in that slowly dying world.

It was a pity things would only get worse before they would look like they were getting better.

* * *

><p><strong>Tony Stark had stashed away his phone as his conversation with her ended, relaying every instruction as clearly as he could to her. They needed to buy some time, and the best way to do that is to keep everyone else who might interfere occupied for the rest of the morning.<strong>

"Alright, Chun-Li's busy now," he spoke. "Logan's plane doesn't touchdown until noon, so we have at least an hour after that. Morrigan won't be back until the end of the day, and I've sent Steve away with JARVIS to review everything we've learned since yesterday, which is a _lot,_ so he'll probably spend the whole afternoon in the library. Deadpool and Dante have been in the shooting range since last night, and I don't expect them to be coming out any time soon. Jean is in the library, reading, and I wouldn't trust her to leave the place in a while."

"Speaking of Jean," started Emma.

"We can discuss that later," interrupted Stark.

"I just want to confirm something. Is she—?"

"Is she _really _Jean Grey? Yes, I think so. I mean, we did the tests: not a Skrull, not a clone, not an LMD or anything like that. So we really have no reason to assume that it isn't her."

"Then how is she—?"

"Alive?" asked Stark. His eyes then shifted to one corner of the room, where a certain purple-eyed cosmic daughter sat quietly, fast asleep. At least, she appeared to be. "I've been wondering about that for some time now, too. But I'm not the one to ask, neither is this the time to do it."

He took a deep breath.

"Right. Anyway, as I was saying, that would be everyone."

He stood by the bed where the body laid. Since fifteen minutes before nine last night, his heartbeats have slowed to a stop and any sort of activity in his brain has become almost nonexistent. He was functionally dead, to be honest. But that wasn't stopping any of them. They'd find a way. They always did.

"Are you sure that's everyone?" asked Emma. Everyone else then looked at him.

"I don't like you poking in my head," he told her. She sighed.

"You got drunk last night, probably the first time in years," she snapped back. "I don't need to read your mind to know how you feel about this. So I'm asking again, are you going to be a problem, Tony?"

He was taken aback. "I got caught off guard last night," he argued. "That's all it was. I didn't even drink that much. Just… look, I'm here now and I'm ready to listen. Of course I'm emotionally invested in this, as all of you are. He was—_is_ our friend, as we are his, and as long as it's possible we'll bring him back."

As far as he could tell, they only had one shot at this.

"So, please, go over this one more time," he told them, as he paced the floor. "Because I'm doing my very best to understand it."

Stephen Strange winced as he crossed his arms over his chest. What he was about to say wasn't something you could mouth off so casually. "Peter... isn't dead. At least, he's not supposed to be."

"Right," mumbled Stark, as he stared at Peter's body on the bed. "And why is that again?"

"Besides the fact that the daughter of Galactus, who we have confirmed to have, without a doubt, already imbued herself with the knowledge of things to come, says that he's not?" continued Strange. "Through the Eye of Agamotto, I have now seen the true nature of his predicament… his being has been taken to the Dark Dimension."

"…And how can you confirm this, again?"

"The essence of Dormammu's influence: magical energy as he had bestowed upon his Mindless Ones through consuming and reforming them with the Flames of the Faltine," explained Strange. "This essence is undetectable without the use of the Eye of Agamotto, or similar other artifacts that can be used to see the true, basic nature of things. I can see remnants of it on the empty chassis that is his body."

"Right," exclaimed Issun, as he stood on Ammy's head. She stood by the door, next to Emma. "Not even Ammy here could sense it, and she has a penchant for detecting malevolent presences."

Amaterasu's ear twitched at the comment.

"In fact," continued Strange. "I was only able to realize this angle at the urging of Miss Frost that there was something wrong going on within the depth of Peter's subconscious."

"There wasn't anything wrong with his subconscious," suddenly interjected Emma. "Rather, his subconscious… no, his entire mind isn't even there."

"And you only _chanced_ to try to look inside, right?" asked Stark mockingly.

"Please, Tony, I go through _everyone's_ minds. There's nothing quite so new about that," she replied. "And as you can attest, it's a good thing I did."

"I can't say I feel comfortable with that."

"I don't need you to, darling."

Stark stared at her worriedly, as Emma smirked.

"Okay. Alright," sighed Stark, and he breathed in heavily. He then turned to Strange, and asked, "And then, earlier, you told me that there's nothing you can do."

"Saying it that way puts it out of context."

"Alright, please elaborate again, because as smart as I am, I'm finding it really hard to follow any of this."

"Fine," sighed Strange. "It's because, as you are already aware of, we are to limit the use of significantly powerful arcane and supernatural abilities as long as we are in this world. With Galacta's confirmation, the instability of this world is now apparent to us all. Ergo, I can now say with utmost certainty that any attempt to try and open portals to other realms from this end of the multiverse, which requires a significant amount of mystical energy on my part to even attempt to induce something as simple as temporal displacement, could easily rip apart this world on a submolecular and even metaphysical level. Meaning we shall be dooming ourselves much faster than our enemies."

"Alright. And?"

_"And_ would you really want a dimensional portal to be opened, directly connecting this world and that of the Dark Dimension?"

"Right," Stark responded as-a-matter-of-factly. "Point taken."

"This is something Peter needs to do on his own, and we can't help him there," went on Strange. "If his mind truly is in the Dark Dimension, then all we can do now is to trust him to do whatever it takes to find a way back to us. It _is_possible, and from my understanding, it was by complete chance that one of the Mindless Ones gave him the stare of the abyss that sent his mind to the Dark Dimension."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning they did not intend to do it."

"But since Peter is a key," countered Issun, "wouldn't they take advantage of this and… try to…"

"No," answered Strange. "They would not."

"Do they _know _that he's a key?" asked Issun.

"I am positive that they do," spoke Strange, as he cupped his chin. "Dormammu has allied himself with He-Who-Sleeps-But-Shall-Soon-Awake, and has become a willing servant to it. I know Dormammu. He is prideful, boastful and arrogant; he is no willing pawn of anyone. As far as he is concerned, he plays a game of chess with the universe and all are his enemies, even beings such as the Living Tribunal, whose power is simply unfathomable compared even to his own."

"And yet now he chose to be a servant?" asked Issun.

"And I assume that his reasons are justified according to his warped views," continued Strange. "What I am getting at is that if Dormammu has allied himself with He-Who-Sleeps-But-Shall-Soon-Awake, then he will have demanded a slice of the proverbial cake that He-Who-Sleeps-But-Shall-Soon-Awake wishes to consume, so to speak, as down payment for his services."

"And the cake would be?" asked Stark.

"Knowledge, or at least a part of it is," suddenly spoke a voice. The daughter cosmic then stood up, stretched her arms, yawned, and hovered towards the center of the room, where they all were.

"Finally awake, I see," snapped Stark.

"I do not awaken," spoke Gali, "for I do not slumber."

"Then, pray tell, what do you call what you were doing earlier?"

"I was merely resting my eyes," she answered, "as well as decreasing the reception of my sensory stimuli and reducing the amount of conscious activity in my thought patterns."

"Yeah, right. Here, we call that sleep."

"I am a being made from cosmic energy," she suddenly exclaimed. "I have no physical form, and that which you now see is merely a chassis that—"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, princess. Now, what was it you were saying about knowledge?"

"Hmph," grunted Gali. "Very well. Continuing, I was speaking of Dormammu and how their benefactor has possibly tempted him with the knowledge it possesses of the true nature of this universe, and what it wishes to accomplish with it. Dormammu must have been given vital information, such as the identity of the individual keys, when he pledged his allegiance."

"So to conclude," began Stark, "you're sure that Dormammu is in on whatever it is Mr. Tentacles is planning, and as such, he would know sensitive information like Peter being a key to some sort of cosmic enigma. But you think that he wouldn't try to… try to…"

"No, I do not," spoke Gali. "Peter Parker is a key to unlocking what is perhaps the greatest secret of the multiverse, and is therefore crucial to what their benefactor is planning. If he dies, the ties that bind will be severed long before it has had a chance to be bound. The same applies for Phoenix Wright."

"So if one of the pieces goes missing, the whole puzzle can't be finished," clarified Issun. "Is that what you're trying to say?"

"Close, tiny, green, bouncing bug. But—"

_"Wandering artist," _corrected Stark and Issun in unison.

"…Right," Gali responded awkwardly. "As I was saying, however, even if the puzzle pieces are there, the board is non-existent. At least, it does not exist yet. Therefore, killing Peter Parker would nullify their chances of finishing the game before it has even started."

"A game, you say?" commented Stark. "Could you try being a little less vague?"

"I cannot," she responded. "To do so, would mean to make conclusions, and to make conclusions, I would have to narrow down my choices to a single strand on the web that I have a woven—the web which contains all probable possibilities and outcomes. The web of things to come. Which as you can imagine is quite unlikely, at least at this time."

"Then of what use _can_ you be, princess?" cracked Stark.

Gali glared at him. "I am the reason you are all here. I am the reason we still have a chance to win. Rest assured that as the promised day comes closer, the web shall become narrower, the path will become clearer, and whether we shall achieve victory or be swallowed up in the abyss shall be clear to all. When the time comes, I will personally tell you myself whether the choices we made shall save or has doomed us all, Anthony Edward Stark. Does that answer your question?"

"It was a joke," replied Stark, deadpan.

"I know," responded Gali. "It wasn't very funny."

There was a sudden silence that endured afterwards.

"Right," cried Emma, shaking her head in disbelief. "If you two princesses are quite finished, I'd like to get this conversation back on track. With all that's been said, I believe Peter can and will be able to come back to us, whatever it takes."

"I sense the 'but' coming," muttered Stark. "But?"

"But we have a problem," spoke Emma. "As you are perfectly aware of, his body has failed him. Even if his mind is alive, his body is technically dead. If—_when _his mind comes back, and it doesn't have a body to come back to—"

"—Let's… just say that as Sorcerer Supreme, I have been a firsthand witness to events such as this occurring before," suddenly interjected Strange. "They are_ never_ pleasant."

"So what _can _we do?" growled Stark.

The room went completely silent.

Henry "Hank" Pym, who had been standing by the windows listening, then walked towards the bed in the middle of the room and grabbed the clipboard by the bedside desk. He was wearing a white lab coat over his costume: a simple, dark red, full-body outfit with black gauntlets and boots. His classic Ant-Man costume, one that he hasn't worn in years. Why?

Because he wasn't Hank Pym, at least as Stark knows him. He was Hank Pym as he used to know him, all those years ago. Why is it that an early incarnation of Hank Pym was the one sent to this universe, instead of the one from their era?

It was something he wanted to find out. Especially since, he thinks that, Hank isn't the only one who is like that. He's just the one who's most blatant about it.

Hank then just stared at the slab of paper in his possession, flipping the pages and breathing heavily, all the while trying to steady his hands. What _he_ was about to say was something else you couldn't just mouth off nonchalantly.

"I… well, Bruce and I talked about it, and I've come up with a probable solution but," mumbled Pym, "it's… risky, to say the least."

"We're trying to bring back the dead," said Stark. "Of course there are going to be risks."

"Agreed. But… this isn't something we've ever done before," countered Pym.

"Elaborate."

"Right, alright," went Pym. "But first, I have to explain a few things. A little background check, if you will. Right, here goes: yesterday, before fighting against the Mindless Ones, Peter fought off and took down an Umbrella-created Tyrant that stabbed him in the shoulder—"

"I think we all know that part. Then I ordered the evacuating team to store it in the van they were escaping in to bring it here for analysis, but…"

"But it disappeared."

"There was a fire. It could have—"

"No. It didn't."

Pym then looked up and stared at them.

"The Mindless Ones took it."

"What?" exclaimed Stark. Everyone else then turned to look at Pym.

"I did think it was strange that they just suddenly appeared and left," commented Issun.

"I briefed Deadpool yesterday while all of you were busy with the daughter cosmic, and Cap was busy questioning Frost," explained Pym. "He said that when they rammed the van onto one of those mindless freaks, the others ganged up on them and ripped open the vehicle, pulling out the Tyrant's body. One of them then ripped off its left arm and broke it open. Inside was a metal cylinder the size of a fist connected to a syringe. After the fact, they started to retreat."

"Deadpool saw all of that?" questioned Stark.

"Him and Peter. I strongly believe it was the reason Peter went after the Mindless Ones even as they attempted to escape through the gateway."

"Wait," muttered Strange. "Syringe? Are you meaning to say—"

Pym nodded. "Whatever it's for, Wesker set up a fight between him and Spider-Man in order to take a sample of his blood," explained Pym frankly. "At least that's how I believe things had gone. Either way, I don't think he had a Tyrant on his person just in case there was a small chance that he would be fighting Spider-Man in the area. But he did, and he got what he came for."

"Wait. Then are you saying that he sicced Mindless Ones on them just to get back the sample?" asked Stark.

"Then if Peter didn't bring back that Tyrant," whispered Strange. "If we didn't put it in the van… if we just left it there… then maybe—"

"Don't try to act like you have a fault in this, Stephen," spoke Stark. His voice sounded heavy and saddled. "You weren't even there. I… it was my fault. I called the shots. And if it wasn't for me—"

"Stop it, both of you," suddenly cut in Emma. She then leaned back on the wall behind her and crossed her arms over her chest. "Your self-loathing won't change anything. Spider-Man is still dead, and the best thing you both can do is to stop, pick yourselves up, and listen to the solution."

"…Solution?" asked Stark.

"Yes, well, about that," started Pym, "I analyzed a sample of Spider-Man's blood in order to see what kind of properties it had to warrant Wesker wanting it."

"Yeah?" remarked Stark. "Well?"

"To start with, it's radioactive," replied Hank. "Thought it didn't emit radiation, despite having radioactive properties. It seemed it had something to do with having been conformed to a human body for so long that his body had learned to adapt his blood, eliminating its radioactive emission. Never thought that was possible."

Stark, Strange and Emma then all stared at each other.

"We," began Stark, "kinda know all of that already."

"Really," went Hank. "Then what about… him having been infected by the T-virus?"

Everyone just stared at him. They didn't make a peep. They all just stared at him, without making a sound. But with their mouths agape and their eyes wide open, one could readily tell that in their minds they were asking the only question that mattered.

_What?_

Well, everyone except Emma Frost.

"T-virus?" asked Emma, perplexed.

"The T-virus, or Tyrant virus, is a mutagenic virus created by the Umbrella Corporation that infects hosts just like any other virus, only that it breaks down cells in order to reproduce and release energy, slowly destroying its host's body, making it lose all higher neural functions and putting it in a state of necrosis. The virus then highjacks the body, and uses the energy it releases to power motor neural and lower brain functions, giving the now reanimated host an insatiable hunger in order to replace its rapidly decreasing energy reserves, wit—"

"To put it simply," cut in Stark. "It's a zombie virus."

"Then," began Emma, pointing at the body on the bed. She look frightened, or at least unnerved, and Stark was enjoying every moment of it. "Then why isn't Peter…?"

"That's the good news, I believe," answered Pym preemptively. "The virus is affecting him differently. It's lying dormant in his cells, reproducing, but they aren't having the same effects."

"What do you want us to do then?" asked Emma. "What are you implying?"

Everyone else looked at Pym.

"I want you all to decide," he answered calmly. "The virus has regenerative capabilities. If Peter's mind comes back without a body to come back to… well, as Dr. Strange has said, the consequences would be dire. But if we could reanimate his body—"

"That's insane," exclaimed Stark. "I know what I said earlier, but… but using the T-virus?"

"It won't affect him the same way it would affect a normal human," explained Pym. "I ran the tests. But there would be... other unpredictable mutations."

"Princess," spoke Stark, turning towards Gali, "what do you think?"

"I wouldn't know unless you make a choice," she answered. "That would narrow down the probable outcomes by some 1.37%. That is actually a pretty huge percentage in lessening the amount of data I have to process, so marginally your intended outcome would have an expected increase in—"

Stark sounded pissed. "You know, you're one useless seer."

"I resent that," she answered. "But it's not an entirely unfounded observation, and I apologize for it."

Everyone then fell silent.

"But know this," she continued. "If I were to be asked… if I were to be asked of my own opinion, if I were to be asked subjectively… I would agree to this."

Everyone then looked at her.

"And my reason would be that it would be better to take a chance at achieving victory, not knowing what the outcome would be, than not taking that opportunity, therefore never knowing if victory or defeat would have been achieved. The world isn't as clear cut as black and white; it's all a heavy mix of a thousand shades of gray. There are no clear winners or losers, nor are there victories without sacrifices, nor losses without some form of triumph, for in the long run one cannot reach what he wants without being subjected to losing a whole lot.

"Therefore, we _must_ fight. If we win, we live. If we lose, we die. If we _don't_ fight, we _can't_ win."

She then looked at all of them, sighing.

"If Peter Parker wins, he lives. If he loses, he dies. But… if we don't give him this chance to fight and come back to us, he can never win."

"Do you... know something _else_ we don't?" asked Stark.

"I know simply that I trust him to win," she answered. "Do you?"

Stark smiled. "I do."

There was a sudden flash in his eyes. Everyone saw it, how all the doubt that Tony Stark had in mind was washed away the instant he felt a sudden feeling of hope surging in his veins.

No, perhaps it wasn't hope. Hope would imply an uncertainty, the idea that an abrupt change in the winds of fate was a possibility, for better or for worse, while wishing that a change for the worse would not be the case. Tony Stark wasn't being hopeful. He was sure that victory would be there the instant he clawed at it.

In his blood, what ran was the drive to win.

"Hank," he suddenly called out. There was a fire in his eyes that would not die. "Whatever it is you need to do to activate the virus, do it. Strange, Emma, monitor Peter's brain waves and watch for signs of his mind returning to his body. Don't forget to keep us posted."

Strange and Emma nodded in unison.

"Ammy, cast Sunrise and purify the room. We don't want He-Who-Sleeps-But-You-Know-What-Strange-I-Can't-Even Remember-His-Whole-Monicker crashing this operation."

Amaterasu nodded meekly and pulled her brush out from her sleeves.

"I shall help with the preparations," spoke Gali, and she followed Pym as he went out the door to gather his equipment.

Tony couldn't help but notice her smiling to herself, and he found himself smiling as well. Even as the universe tried to beat them senseless and reality was firmly trying to screw them over, there was absolutely no reason for him not to fight back. Fate, destiny… whatever the hell it was, there was no reason for him to just keel over and accept what's coming to him.

He knew that now, and it made him smile.

"All right, people," exclaimed Stark triumphantly, pumping his fist. "Let's do this."

**End of Chapter 11**


	12. In Absentia Luci

**Turnabout Crossover**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12: In Absentia Luci<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Sometimes the world only makes sense when you force it to.<strong>

It was one of those things I liked to keep saying to myself over and over. Mostly because it keeps me sane. Mostly because it reminds me that I'm still alive.

And that if I ever stopped doing it, I'd lose it. It was the kind of thing you'd drill in your head over and over because you were afraid that if you stopped, you'd fall off the slippery slope and drop straight into a bottomless pit of madness. It was one of the things you told yourself to keep your sanity from ever ripping itself to shreds.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are Spider-Man…"

Because me, I'm not crazy. I swear I'm not, and that just makes me feel _worse._

"The moment I find him, I'll tear the very meat from his bones until he's nothing but a walking Halloween prop!"

Because it would mean that I choose to do this. That I choose to be the one standing between good people and the bad. That I choose to be the lightning rod that stands between the raging storm overhead and the city beneath it, drawing the lightning and the flames from people who I know don't deserve to get hurt. That in the process, I let myself get burned.

That in the process I let myself get mauled, get stabbed, get beaten over and over by the bad people—that I choose to let myself get beaten to within an inch of my life to protect people who wouldn't hesitate to call me a menace after I save their lives one too many times.

"**He's here. We can smell him. We can sense him here… hiding… **_**afraid…"**_

But worst of all, whatever happens—whatever horrible, unforgiving, inhuman angle the universe tries to torture me with next— I know I'll never stop. Until the day comes when the universe ceases to exist, and we're all swallowed up in the dark unknown only the night sky has ever been witness to, I know I'll never stop. Until the day comes when I draw my last breath and shed my last drop of blood, I know I'll never stop.

Because with every fiber of my being, I know that what I'm doing is _right._

"**FOUND HIM!"**

The monster lashes out at me, its right arm a writhing mass of tentacles coming at me at insane speeds. I jump back to avoid it, expertly maneuvering each maligned limb and deformed appendage that sliced at me with lightning speed. As I dashed into a darkened alley, I found myself within the the sights of an even more monstrous being. His tattered robes flowed freely in the cold, evening winds as a wide, delirious smile formed out of the rubber mask concealing his face. He reached into his bag of tricks for a little surprise.

Spider-sense warned me too late. A pumpkin bomb was inches from my face.

I closed my eyes. In my years of heroics, I've learned that sometimes you just couldn't help getting hurt, no matter how good you are at avoiding pain. And that if you absolutely must get hurt, the best thing to do was to close your eyes and crawl into the deepest, darkest part of your mind. Stay there for a while, dream happy dreams and ignore the pain until it goes away.

So I close my eyes. I closed my eyes and tried to dream, tried to think of happy thoughts, of fun memories, of occasions where the almost divine and systematic heartaches and pains my Parker luck brought me suddenly decided that it would take a break and leave me be.

I tried… and failed. Funny, it usually worked. Then again, when I think about it, I was already dreaming, weren't I?

This place was already nothing more than an illusion made to drive me mad.

The bomb explodes in a shower of light, sending me hurtling backwards violently. Then suddenly something snatched me mid-air by the leg, and like a rag doll it smashed my body into the ground. Then it lift me up once more and threw me away.

I crash into a concrete wall with enough force to break it down. I felt every bone I had crack as I slid back to the ground, slowly and painfully. I kept coughing up so much blood that the sensation of drowning in it engulfed me, and suddenly I couldn't breathe.

And I just lied there, bloody and hurt. Pain overwhelmed my entire body. I was gasping desperately for air. I was so very hurt… and so very tired…

_Tired…_

_I just want… to go… home…_

_Home… there's a word I've forgotten…_

_Home… home..._

_I just... want to come home..._

"Come home early tonight," she had told me. That was the last time I saw her then.

I was already on my way out the window. I was in costume, but I had extra clothes packed in a backpack I carried with me. MJ always insisted I bring extra clothes with me so I had something to change into if I ever needed to. I kept telling her that there was no possible reason that I'd ever need to change into civilian clothing, since I was just going on patrol and all—which I do every night, but she told me that I'd never know.

"Why?" I asked her. There was nothing particularly different about that night. No escaped supervillain on television. No reports of a crazed gunman running rampant on the streets. No intergalactic conqueror wishing to wage war with Earth. There was nothing unique about it in any way. And if there _was_ something like that, I doubt changing back into civilian garb would be the first thing on my mind.

"Nothing special, tiger," she answered. She bit her lip. "Just… promise me you'll come home early tonight."

"MJ, 'nothing special' means there's something special," I told her, smiling under my mask.

"Just… come home, Peter," she told me, and kissed me on the cheek. There was nagging feeling on the back of my head that she was worried about something she wasn't telling me. "I just have a bad feeling about tonight. Promise me you'll come home."

"There's no need to worry, red," I reassured her. "I always come home."

"Just promise me that you will," she insisted. Her deep, green eyes sparkled so brightly, I had to stop myself from saying how beautiful she looked under the living room light.

"I promise. Don't worry, MJ," I told her. I told her not to worry. I told her that there was absolutely nothing she had to worry about. I told her that this night was definitely no different than all the other nights I go on patrol. "I always come home, don't I?"

That night, I found myself lost in this alternate Earth.

That scene played over and over again in my head, as I lay dying. It's funny how you seem to remember and appreciate your life the most when you're about to die. Especially if it was full of failures and broken promises.

The buildings above towered over me in their grandeur. It was like they were watching me, as I did over them for years, mourning over me as I laid there dying. Silent sentinels seeing the hero fall for what was perhaps the last time.

_Maybe death wouldn't be so bad,_ I had thought then. Maybe a good death was just what I needed. A final rest. I was just so _tired…_

Above me, the stars continued to twinkle in their silence. Just hanging there in the night sky without a care in the world. When I was a kid, I remember how my Aunt May used to tell me that when people die, they turned into stars, and like the buildings above me they watched over us. They watched us win, they watched us lose, they watch us when we take our first steps, when we fall, and when we pick ourselves up. And when we found the strength to, they'd watch us rise.

They'd watch us _fly._

I grew to like stars. They feel so magnificent, just being there, up in the night sky. They had an air of permanence that is what probably made me attracted to them. They were the one thing that never changed in this ever-changing universe, and sometimes I thought that if only we were all like stars, we'd be better off. No more pain, no more anguish. No more worries and fears and doubts.

Just existing endlessly in the night sky.

I look up and see the buildings of New York above, this city that never sleeps, towering over me. And I see the stars above them, existing over them, and I just come to appreciate that they were there for me to look at. I think of Uncle Ben, up there, watching over me…

…watching me die.

"Peter," spoke a voice, and I opened my eyes. There was no way. There was just no way.

I stood up, pushing myself off the ground. I didn't feel any pain. There was no strain, no aches. But that time, I didn't even notice. I didn't even notice how the scenery suddenly changed into a grassy meadow. How the night suddenly turned into early morning. How the bright sun suddenly enveloped me in caring warmth and love. A gentle mist overwhelmed my sight as I struggled to see the silhouette in front of me. There was just no way…

"Peter, is that you?" he spoke again. Gentler, kinder now.

I couldn't believe my eyes. "Uncle Ben."

I ran up to him and embraced him. He felt warm. I felt tears come to my eyes, for perhaps the first time in years. There was no way, there was just no way.

"Hey there, son," someone else suddenly spoke, and I looked up.

"Captain Stacy," I muttered to myself. "I don't… w-what's going on?"

"It's alright Peter," someone else said. It was kind and sweet and motherly. "It's all over."

"Aunt May," I cried. I couldn't believe my eyes. "No, this can't…"

"It's okay, tiger," another voice called out to me. I turned to my right, and caught a glimpse of her… of both of them.

"MJ," I whispered under my breath. Tears started to form in my eyes again. "And… Gwen?"

"Hey there, Petey," she told me. "It's been too long."

My legs started to wobble and I fell to my knees. I didn't understand.

"I… I don't understand," I cried. "Why… why is this…"

"There's nothing _to _understand, Peter," spoke Uncle Ben, and he held my hand in both of his. "It's over now. There's no need for you to suffer anymore."

Gwen walked towards us and knelt beside me. She wrapped her arms around me and whispered in my ear, "We're proud of you, Peter. That's all you need to know. There's no need for you to do this anymore. You're home now."

"Home?"

"It's true, Peter," spoke Captain Stacy. "You've given enough. You've sacrificed enough. You don't owe the world anything anymore. It's time for you to move on."

"But… I've _failed,"_ I told him. I told _them. _"I don't… I don't deserve this. I want it but… I don't… I don't…"

_Home._

They all looked at me and smiled. Home. The word was foreign to me now. It was something I've forgotten the feeling of. But their expressions changed suddenly as they looked at me. They looked worried, surpirised... as if they weren't sure what they were looking at anymore.

"What's wrong, Peter?" asked my Aunt May.

I closed my eyes.

"Everything," I told her. I smiled half-heartedly, thinking about how this was all just one, big joke. "This isn't real."

"What?" she asked quietly.

"None of this is real," I told them. "It's just wishful thinking. I don't deserve peace. When I fall, this isn't what I deserve to see. I've failed everyone who's ever believed in me. I've let people die. I've let the people who are waiting for me back home down. The universe would never dare give me this chance to rest. It knows _I don't deserve this."_

I opened my eyes, and all of a sudden they were swallowed by flames. They burned as brightly as the sun at noon, their expressionless faces staring at me with cold, dead eyes as they were engulfed by the fire.

Aunt May, Uncle Ben, Captain Stacy… they just stood there and burned. I failed them. I always failed in the end. There was nothing surprising about that.

Mary Jane, who had been holding out her hand to me, pulled it back and held her hands to her chest. She was crying as the flames engulfed her. I wanted to tell I'm sorry, but I couldn't… I… I'm… sorry…

And Gwen… poor, sweet Gwen… she hugged me tighter as the fire consumed her. I could smell her hair, the perfume she used to wear—strawberries—a familiar scent I used to know. Nostalgia devoured me as I remembered her face, now burning beside me. Her sweet scent now replaced by the stench of burning hair and flesh.

And just as suddenly I found myself lying down on the ground once more, staring at the wide expanse of the night sky above me while it now possessed one definite difference: the sky now resembled twilight, and the apocalyptic sight of entire buildings and skyscrapers all around me being devoured by flames was evocative of being trapped in Hell itself. The image it formed was forever seared scathingly into my mind. _The city is burning, _my brain kept telling me.

_My _city was burning.

"Poor, little spider," a voice roared, before bursting into an uncontrollable laughter. I saw him approach me from the corner of my eye. "Is the wittle spider hurt?" he asked mockingly. "What happened? Sprained your wrist? Broke your ankle? Ha-ha! Maybe you'd like a rib obliterated to go with that, or better yet, maybe I could just break your neck. You know just how much I _love _breaking necks, _especially _if they're attached to blondes in go-go boots. No, wait… that's just you. Ha-ha-ha!"

The Goblin knelt down to the ground and picked up a carcass burning on the ground, and I knew instantly who it was. I could recognize those eyes even as they boiled in their sockets. In front of me, he twisted her head in an unnatural angle and popped it off, throwing it back amongst the countless bodies there.

There was a _lot _of bodies there.

People I knew, people I recognized… people I cared about. They were all strewn over the streets around me, burning in massive piles.

Matt Murdock. Reed and Sue, and their kids. Johnny and Ben. Jessica. Bobby. Angelica. Luke Cage and Jessica Jones. Danny Rand. Logan. Tyrone and Tandy. Cap and Tony.

Some other voice spoke, and I saw a small, fat man with stubby legs walking unflinchingly towards me. Four mechanical arms protruded from his back. "How should I go about dissecting you, Spider-Man? Should I mutilate your limbs first, and watch as you writhe in agony and die of blood loss, or should I just cut your torso in the middle and rip it open, letting you watch as I pull out your organs one by one before crushing your heart with a tentacle?"

The bodies continued to pile up, and more and more people I recognized joined the massive flames that had engulfed everything in sight.

Harry Osborn. Liz Allen. Flash Thompson. Felicia Hardy. Betty Brant. Ned Leeds. Robbie Robertson. Ben Urich. Even Jonah.

I strained my eyes as I stared at the fire. Even _they _were there. Their bodies burned and receded as the fire undiscriminatingly swallowed them whole, like a snake swallowing a mouse. I didn't want to look, but I couldn't avert my eyes.

Chun-Li. Dante. Trish. Ryu. Chris. Jill. Morrigan. Tron. Maya.

_Dear God, _I thought then. _Dear God, no._

Another monster then came into view, uncharacteristically unminding of the fire around it. Its head then shook violently, and a long, whip-like tongue shot out of it. Its jaw unhinged and it let out a howl, making its voice become much more monstrous and much less coherent.

"**You're going to die, Parker. One way or another," **it growled. **"We will rid the world of you once and for all, whatever it takes. We will grind your bones and feast on your flesh."**

As I stared at the three monsters' silhouettes they suddenly seemed to merge, as a single, hulking figure walked towards me with an inhuman gait.

The monster drew closer, and its grotesque figure became illuminated by the light of the skyscrapers exploding around me. The head was half the Goblin's and half Venom's, with the symbiote's long tongue hanging loose. It wore Ock's goggles, and had Ock's four tentacles attached to its back. It had the Goblin's ragged robes and armor over the symbiote's bulky form. It walked with the grace of a drunk man, and whether it was because of its unlikely anatomy or its massive size, I didn't know.

The monster towered over me, green saliva oozing from its wide, gaping mouth as it picked me up by the arm and roared at me.

The Goblin's voice came on once more, and the monster's mouth grinned wider than possible. Its single, yellow eye opened as wide as the moon above me was large. Its horrible, yellow eye glared at me, filled with bloodlust and anger and rage.

"It's over, Spider-Man," it spoke in ultimatum. "This fight, you lose."

It cocked back one, massive arm and bashed me on the head. Then it drew back its fist and punched me in the gut. Over and over and over. I winced. I felt blood flow out of ever orifice on my face. Finally, it smashed me into the ground and stomped on my chest.

Struggling, I tried to grab hold of its leg, but its robotic tentacles ripped my hands off of it and pinned them to the ground.

He cackled madly as the last thing I saw was the city burning around me.

_He's right, _I thought then. _It's over. I've failed. I always fail in the end. I always fail the people I care about. The people I want to protect. The people I love._

_I don't deserve them… any of them. I'm so hopeless, just giving up now. I can't even will myself to fight back._

_I failed them._

_I don't deserve them. I don't deserve friends. I don't deserve family. I don't deserve a soft bed, a warm blanket at night… I was never even deserving of my own parents' love._

_People I protect, people I save, people I swear I love: die. Fate keeps taking them away from me. Everything happens for a reason, they kept saying. Maybe they do. Maybe the reason nothing good ever happens to me… why my life has always been the miserable rollercoaster of heartaches and breakdowns that it always has been… is because I deserve it, somehow._

_I deserve the bad things, but not the good…_

_I don't know. I really don't want to think about it. I don't want it to be the last thing on my mind before… before…_

…_All I know is that I… don't deserve the people I've left behind, the people who've always believed in me. Back home. Who would never… think for one second that I would ever… give up. Who in their hearts knew that as long as I live… I would never… never…_

_Aunt May… I…_

I remembered.

_Felicia…_

_Jessica…_

People I've left behind. People whose faces I almost forgot.

_Matt… Logan... Luke… Danny… Bobby…_

The ones whom I considered my friends.

Chun-Li… Morrigan… Dante… Tron… Ryu...

The ones whom I considered my family.

_Johnny… Sue… Reed… Ben… guys, I would never…_

All of them. I saw all of them stretching their hand towards me, trying to reach me. Trying to grab hold of me. Trying to pull me back. And I will never again forget.

_Cap… Tony…it can't… end this way…_

That the reason I've always been fighting—

_Captain Stacy… God, I'm so… so sorry…_

That the reason I've always tried my damnedest to stay alive—

_Uncle Ben… no… I can't… not like this… I won't… I…_

No matter how many times I should have died before—

_Mary Jane…_

The reason I kept getting back up—

…_Gwen._

—is because they knew in their hearts that I promised I would always come home.

_Get up. Get up, Parker. I'm not… No… not like this… I'm not dying, not like this. I won't… no, I won't… no… can't… must get up… c'mon, Parker… don't give in… for them… never… no… no… never… no, no… no…_

And I'm not about to break that promise.

**"NO!"**

I screamed. With every muscle in my body writhing in agony, I screamed.

"**What?" **it was Venom's voice that blared. **"How can you be—?"**

I grabbed onto the tentacles pinning me down and stabbed them into the leg that was holding me in place. It was Ock that cried like a small child from the pain as I got back up on my feet.

"No, you can't be," it muttered as tears formed in its eyes. "How can you still be—"

"_Alive?" _I growled.

I grabbed the creature's tongue and tugged hard on it. Like a rag doll, it leapt at me with the slightest resistance. There was something rewarding in the way its two malformed eyes looked at me. As it drew closer, widening its jaw as it attempts to take a bite out of my hide, I jumped to meet it in mid-air. Using the momentum, I kicked the underside of its chin and its mouth snapped shut, slicing its own tongue.

The creature yelped in pain in Osborn's voice, shouting expletives that I'd rather not repeat. As it cried, I caught the monster's clawed hand as it tried to lash out at me and pulled his arm behind him. I heard the satisfying pop of its shoulder socket before I held onto the back of its head as we fell, pointing it at the concrete below.

The ground quaked as the behemoth crashed face-first into the ground. I grabbed onto the mechanical arms on its back, and with great effort I teared it from the monsters' spine. It howled in pained as I threw the detached limbs to the side. I turned the thing on its back so it could look into my eyes, and clenched my fist.

_This thing, _I thought to myself. _This thing represents everything I hate._

"No," it cried in Osborn's broken voice. "Parker, I'll kill you! _Do you hear me? I'll kill you! And everything you hold—"_

A few teeth were torn off and flew onto the ground.

_Everything I hate… and fear. No, not just this thing. Whatever this place is, it took everything I love and twisted it, burned and destroyed all of it._

Splotches of blood appeared on my knuckles.

_Thinking it would break me. Thinking that by showing me what I feared the most… thinking that by showing me losing everyone I held dear, I would lose it._

_Thinking that by showing me this monster… this thing made up of the people I hated and am scared of the most… I would give up and die._

Splashes of blood drenched my suit.

_In a way it won. Because I did give up. And I hate myself even more for that._

_But I also want to thank it._

My hand ached as it continued to smash against a crushed skull and a broken jaw, but I didn't mind it.

_Because by showing me what I feared the most, it made me realize how much I don't want that to happen. How much I'll _never_ let that happen._

_And by showing me something that represented the people and things I hated the most—by giving everything I despised in the world one, horribly maligned face—_

The concrete beneath its head cracked. The ground around us shook repeatedly.

—_it gave me the one thing I've always wanted to beat to a bloody pulp._

The fire raged around me. I could hear buildings crumbling in the distance, entire structures breaking down like a house of cards, but I didn't care.

As long as my two hands kept grounding the monster below me to minced meat, I didn't care.

But then, something grabbed my arm, stopping me. I turned to lash out at whatever it was, but as soon as I saw who it was, I yielded. She was the last person I'd think to see in that desolation.

"…Morri?" I muttered under my breath.

"Spider…?" she whispered. I could see tears in her eyes, and for the first time I became aware that even she was capable of emotions such as that. She wrapped her arms around my torso, and I stopped dead in my tracks.

Suddenly, there was nothing around us but darkness. A single light glowed brightly in the distance, but even it was enough for us to see each other in the dark.

Morrigan looked up at me, and she kept crying. "Spider, I… we… we thought you were… no, what is this? What is going on?"

I put both my hands on her shoulders and separated her from me. "Morrigan… calm down," I told her. "Is it you? Is it really you?"

"Spider…" she mumbled, smiling. She wiped her eyes dry. "I apologize… please understand that I… I do not usually…"

"Morrigan, is that really you?"

"Yes, Spider," she spoke, reassuringly. "It is I."

"How… how did you get here?" I asked her. Even though I didn't know myself where here was.

"Tony… asked me to go an excursion to Makai," she started to explain. "Seeing as my natural ability to travel between Earth and Makai is unhindered by the cosmic locks that disallow us from traveling back to our own worlds. Then when I was on the crossroads between dimensions, I… sensed a familiar scent. And I followed it, longingly until I came to this dark place. And just when I thought it had been nothing but wishful thinking, I—"

"—you saw me," I finished it for her.

She nodded. "I saw you here, alone. In this darkness where even some of the most evil of demons and abominations fear to tread, in this place where the smallest flicker of light shining on you is the last thing you would wish upon yourself, the old one listens. And he waits."

"Who?" I questioned her. "What is this place?"

"This is the Dark Dimension," she explained. "Or at least an annex of it that is much closer in proximity to the universe we are on. When I was but a young fledgeling, not yet knowledgeable on the matters of this universe, my father once brought me here on a diplomatic visit… no, not diplomatic nor a 'visit'... rather, he brought me here when he severed the ties he had with this dimension's overlord. Even my father was not desperate enough to deal with the dark lord."

"…Dormammu."

"Yes, the ancient one," she told him. "The Dread Dormammu, The Dread One, The Black One, The Great Enigma, The Lord of Darkness, Eater of Souls…"

"I kind of remember… seeing him… meeting him, but it's vague," I put my hands to my temples and struggled to remember. "There was a light. I saw a flicker of light and ran towards it, and at the end… when I got nearer to the light…"

"He was there."

"He was," I told her. "A flicker of light… just… like…"

We turned to look at the small speck of light in the distance. The one that was able to illuminate so much darkness.

Instead we found the demonic dimension lord of that realm standing in front of us, with his arms crossed, and what could be his face forming the semblance of a smile.

"Dormammu," Morrigan and I whispered in unison. I put one arm over her as she lifted me up, and we both faced the monstrosity with the flaming head towering over us.

"Morrigan Aesland," he said, derisively. "Daughter of the late Belial Aensland. Princess of Makai, and supposed heir to its throne. Why is it that you have come to my realm, after your father had chosen to sever the ties he had with the Dread Dormammu."

Morrigan looked at me, and then replied, "Dread One, I have come to retrieve my… friend."

"The daughter of Belial has a friend," he cried, mockingly. "You truly have changed, have you not? Once, I remember a haughty young girl who thought of nothing but fighting and pleasure, who would rather go about committing acts of violence and fornication to fuel her libido than save a useless mortal life, let alone know one who she would consider a _friend. _Truly, humans are such interesting creatures. To think that humankind would be able to transform one of the most powerful and selfish demons in existence into an ally."

"Hey, if you let me rub off on you, I could have you getting me soda by the weekend," I snapped at him.

He let out an amused chuckle, and spoke, "I could squash you like the bug that you are right now—"

_Why does everyone say those exact words?_

"—but I will not, for you are still a key to achieving my benefactor's end goal. And by extension, mine own. And with the way you conducted yourself in the Dark Dimension, I would say that you have earned at least a fraction of my grudging respect. Though perhaps I should not doubt a being that I could compare to Strange, even if he is but dust in the solar winds to me."

"Why did you bring him here?" suddenly cried Morrigan. "If he was important to your plans, then why did you try to kill him?"

Dormammu stared at her, seemingly having no idea about what she meant. Or rather, no idea of why she even dares question him.

"His coming to the Dark Dimension was his own human fallibility and stupidity. And it is not as if he is able to _die. _The fates shall protect him and the other keys until they are able to fulfill their destinies. That much is simple," spoke the Dread One. "His death was an imbecilic mistake on his part, but one that I made use of."

"What do you mean?" I asked him.

"Your spirit is unbreakable, that much is obvious," he began to explain in his despicable way. "That is something I wish my apprentice would realize. I did not bring you here to break you, for that would be a fruitless effort. You brought yourself here, insect, when you chose to run after my Mindless Ones and let yourself be stared into the abyss, transporting your being here. It is through no fault of mine that your body failed you as your soul was sent here. But it is here where I took advantage of this unseen circumstance.

"For you see, the human named Albert Wesker has need of your blood, for according to him it has properties that fit perfectly with a bio-organic weapon he is developing, one that he wishes to launch on this day. I have not time to disclose to you_ exactly_ why your blood is needed for this weapon, nor do I care. All I care about is how much death and destruction it will cause on you wretched humans, which will be plentiful according to his test results. And more importantly, because of your 'death', your allies have become preoccupied with your passing."

Morrigan looked at me guiltily. This much I understood. And the realization slowly dawned on me.

"Humans are truly pitiful," continued Dormammu. "It only takes the loss of one of them for all of them to spiral into a world of depression and indifference to everything else that is just as important around them. While your allies either mourn over your loss, or desperately try to revive your fallen body, they fail to realize that the entire city around them will be consumed in flames in less than two minutes, and when they finally do, it will all be too late."

That moment, the missiles have already been launched. That moment, nobody was manning the radars and satellites, as even the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier had been infiltrated by the Super-Skrull and a Doombot, who has released several B.O.W.s into the entire station.

That moment, Tony and the others were busy trying to activate the T-virus in my blood for it to revive me. Even JARVIS was too occupied manning the equipment needed to be able to allot enough processing power to watch the satellites. That moment, Deadpool and Dante were drowning their sorrows at the shooting range, Maya was still in bed, Chun-Li and Mr. Wright were picking up Logan, Ryu, and X-23 from the airport, and Jean was silently reading a book in the library.

That moment, Jill and Tron were being hunted down by A.I.M. goons and B.O.W.s at the Umbrella Corporation Headquarters in Raccoon City, while Chris had successfully infiltrated it in order to extract them.

That moment, Morrigan and I were face-to-face with Dormammu as he raised one glowing hand and pointed it at us.

"The hour of your doom is at hand," he said menacingly. "Yours and that of this entire feeble planet, _this entire worthless universe, __**this entire festering, filth-ridden reality."**_

_Not all light is good, _I remembered that moment. _Just because you think something or someone is on the side of the angels, it doesn't mean that they are. Sometimes darkness was good, and the light was evil. And this particular light was particularly evil._

I was suddenly consumed by the light, and in the moment that followed I found myself strapped down on a bed. Above me, Tony and Emma had worrisome looks on their faces, as they stared at the person on the bed. As they stared at me.

"How bad is the mutation?" asked Tony to someone out of my field of vision. He was wincing, as if he wasn't sure he chose the right words to say.

"Isn't it enough to just look at him?" snapped Emma. The words could have been sarcastic, but they weren't. She was serious. "Is this... is this alright?"

I tried to warn them. I tried to speak, but somehow I could only growl and roar and hiss.

They were both taken aback, but they didn't move away. The looks on their faces: shame, pity, regret… hopefulness... their expressions confounded me to no end. They looked at me with eyes that were burdened with so much emotion that they were hard to read. I didn't understand what was wrong.

Until I felt my four eyes blink, and I understood completely.

**End of Chapter 12**


	13. Everything Dies

**Turnabout Crossover**

* * *

><p><em>All her life she had never known anything else. She wasn't to blame, truth be told, since if you've been through the kind of things she's been through, you would probably be the same. But to think that a young girl like her can do nothing but fake smiles and feign happiness would make you question how horrible the world really is.<em>

_And again, you can't really blame her, since being able to perceive the people around her—their subtle gestures, their nuances, their hidden depths—made it easier for her to realize that everyone does it. That everyone fakes smiles from time to time. But eventually she started to believe everyone always did it, and even later she started to believe that there was no such thing as a real smile._

_And so she started doing it herself. Smiling for the sake of smiling, so the people around her wouldn't realize how broken up she was inside. Even her daddy never realized, and he knew her best. And besides, the people around her did it first. Even her daddy does it._

_That's right. Everyone else did it first. Everyone else showed her how it's done; how to hide pain behind the façade of a grinning mouth and white teeth. Everyone does it, so everyone must be as broken inside as she is, right? So that must mean that there _is _no such thing as a smile. But… but then that just begs the question:_

_Why is it that _he_ can smile?_

_He confused her to no end. He was either some otherworldly being, or the oddest man she had ever met._

_There was just something jarring about the way he composed himself as he stood upside-down on the ceiling above them, relating to her, her father, and Mr. Stark the hellish tale of how he found himself beaten and battered to within an inch of his life in one of the darkest, deepest corners of the known universe. He told them about how he fought through a gauntlet of his most dangerous foes, ending with him battling against a monstrous mash-up of the three he hated the most, and escaping only to wake up on Earth as a grotesquely mutated monster in front of his allies and friends._

_And he told it all to them with a smile._

_A genuine smile. She was sure of it, and that mere fact completely unsettled her. She perceived him, she tried to peer into his heart, seeing if he would reveal to her hidden secrets and hushed whispers that would show her how he truly was, but he had none to hide. His smile was genuine and warm and pure._

_She didn't understand._

_But honestly, there was nothing _to_ understand. He was simply as he was: someone who could tell such a dreadful tale in the upbeat attitude of someone who has never had a rainy day in his life._

_She had to know why._

"_I don't get it, Mr. Parker," she told him. She took off her top hat and held it in her hands._

"_What is it, Trucy?" he asked her._

"_How can you be so… happy?" she asked him earnestly. She looked into his light, hazel eyes._

"_Happy?" he asked back, perplexed at the question. "What kind of question is that?"_

"_I mean… that story… how could you tell it so happily? Like it was nothing?" she clarified. "It's not the kind of story you should be telling with a grin, isn't it?"_

_Peter shrugged, and he dropped to the floor. "Why not?"_

"_Huh?"_

"_Dilly dally, shilly shally," he said, enigmatically, as he approached her._

"_I-I don't follow," she admitted._

"_It means something, like, not letting things from the past weigh you down," he explained. He kneeled in front of the bed she and her father sat, and looked at her eye to eye. "Bad memories, good memories—it doesn't matter what they are. If you dwell on them too much, they'll just end up getting dragged on needlessly and endlessly on the path you're taking for yourself. You get what I mean?"_

"_I guess," she said._

"_Well, think about it like this," he explained further. "If I dwelled too much on the past—over the good things as much as the bad—I won't be able to think about the future. I have to make room for new thoughts and experiences, make new memories. Whatever happens to me, good or bad, I learn from them and move on. Traveling with a heavy load would only slow me down so I travel light, and just keep moving forward, you know?"_

"_So you just forget about the past and move on?"_

"_What, no! No, I don't. I just don't let the past get to me." He patted her head, and told her, "Listen, never let the past get to you. Don't long too much for all the times you've been happy, and don't beat yourself up for all the times that you weren't. I'm not telling you to forget them—they make up who you are, but they don't decide _how_ you're made up. _You_ do."_

_He stood upright and pulled an office chair from one side of the room. He dragged it over the cream-colored, tiled floors, and he set it up in front of her and her father. He crouched on top of it in his weird way of sitting, and with his arms crossed on the backrest, he continued:_

"_Your past is what your future is built up on, but it doesn't have to _be_ your future. 'What had been' doesn't equal 'what is to be'. Don't be distracted by the what-ifs, should-haves, and if-onlys. I can smile because I know that despite everything that has happened to me, I will always soldier on without the past holding me back."_

_She looked at Phoenix, looking for solace in the only family she has left, and he gave her a big, goofy grin. She lowered her head, and a small smile crept onto her face._

These heroes were all the same, weren't they?_ she thought, and she put her hat back on._

_Though her past is filled with grief and regret, it didn't mean that her future had to be the same. She understands this now. Smiling, making everyone around them feel safe and protected—that was what being a hero was about, wasn't it? That was what a hero embodied. She only just now realized it._

_And for maybe the first time in her life, she didn't find herself having to fake a smile to feel welcome._

_She giggled. She was overthinking things._

"_You get it now, Trucy?" asked Peter._

"_Yeah, I do, Mr. Parker," she said. She felt like a heavy load had been cast off her back. "But I still don't follow how 'dilly dally, shilly shally' is supposed to mean all that."_

"_I know what you mean. Dubs always lack that certain something, but that time they were just plain wrong," he moaned. "From then on I learned to always go for subs."_

"_Huh?"_

"_Just thinking out loud," he told her. Then turning to her father, who had been sitting beside her, he spoke, "You better take it from here, Mr. Wright."_

"_You haven't finished yet," spoke Phoenix, taking a sip of coffee from a mug labeled 'Aperture Sciences'._

"_I'd rather you tell it. This is _your _story after all, Mr. Wright," added Peter. "And besides, I'm not good with telling tales that don't involve me wallowing in self-pity." He let out a good humored laugh._

_And she laughed along with him, something she hasn't done in a while. It was a good thing, she began to believe, that she came here with her daddy. All these wonderful people and all their stories, she wanted to hear them all._

"_What happened next, daddy?" Trucy asked her father enthusiastically, in a smile that she never knew she could do._

_Phoenix looked at her daughter. There was something rewarding in his azure eyes—the kind of spark you would never find in someone who merely told stories. It was the kind of feeling you would only get from someone who's lived through them. Though Phoenix did neither, truth be told._

_What he did was not so much as to live, but survive._

"_To tell you the truth," he told her exhaustedly, "that day was one I remember very vividly. Because after that day… nothing would ever be the same."_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13: Everything Dies<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>In the beginning, there was nothing. When The One Above All decided that there should be <strong>_**something **_**in it but was unable to decide **_**what**_** exactly, He created the moon and flipped it, like a silver dollar. It landed scarred-side up.**

So He created the world. The first Earth, "the alpha and the omega" as the Celestials that would be given birth afterwards had deemed it, for it was the first thing and the last thing in the grand scheme of things.

From that Earth many other worlds would soon spawn, and along with the stars, dust, and debris left by The One Above All's first successful attempt at cosmic baking, the first universe was born, designated Earth-AO after the very planet that had caused its existence. It is here where _they _have crossed over, and it is here where the battle for all of reality's soul will be waged. It is exactly as Galacta had told, for she did not lie when she had told this so. She had no reason to.

Now, it just so happens that the universe came into being for one very specific reason: to encompass everything in existence eternally. After all, mathematically speaking, the set that contains everything had to exist somewhere. Then again, without the _somewhere_ everything exists in, everything wouldn't exist in the first place. It was a complicated relationship, but what has been done has been done, timey-wimey tamperings with the very nature of space-time aside.

But to continue, the very concept of the universe existing as the container of all things proved to be the problem: because of the nature of choice and free will, an outcome must be discarded in favor of another—when decisions are made, one choice is disadvantaged to make way for the other. So in hindsight, what exactly happens to the existence of the choice unchosen? That was the problem that first baffled the Celestials. It does not simply result in cessation, for an idea—a choice—much like matter is insoluble, indestructible. So what happens?

For every idea and decision thought lost, a new universe is born to house all the outcomes and results that would come from it. So basically, if the first warehouse cannot possibly contain an item lest its existence contradicts with that of another, the solution would be to build another warehouse and dump it there. Elegantly simple, really.

From every small thought to every grand plan and scheme—nothing was too little or too large to not be considered a treasure, a part of utmost importance from the universe that had discarded it. And it was because of this principle that the multiverse was born: a great cosmic web of probabilities and possibilities encased in threads spanning eons in the making, existing only for its existence is necessary—"the web of things to come" as Galacta put it. And it is this multiverse that was deemed by the Celestials as the set that contains all of 'reality'.

In layman's terms, the set contains all of reality was simply a forever expanding compound of warehouses.

But how were those choices divided? How could they possibly travel to different points in the multiverse in order to give birth to universes that would accept them? For this reason, something was needed to manage and keep the multiverse in-check. Some_things, _actually. In order to solve this particular dilemma, the gateways were created.

The function of the gateways was simple: to relay these different decisions, these varying information to all universes, and making its ever-adapting, ever-changing, ever-encompassing nature uniform and absolute. Hyperdimensional and interdimensional gateways influence the creation of the universe by being the data networks through which these probabilities are sent and given corporeal form—and this in turn cause the birth of new universes by starting an overload of data: a 'big bang'.

And in one of these universes—the one designated as Earth-616—was first born the being Galactus.

* * *

><p><strong>The sky started to turn dark as a gigantic veil of shadows came to devour it, as wolves devour fawn. The clouds looked heavy, and rain would come just as soon as the stage was set and all the pieces in this game of chess they played were in order. If there's one thing the fates loved more than firmly screwing with the lives of everyone doing their damnedest to save the multiverse, it was to set up the atmosphere of the situation at just the right level of apocalyptic for everyone to feel that yes, it was the end of the world.<strong>

And the end of _this_ world meant the end of everything. That everything dies.

The metal detector beeps as he passed by. The short, hairy man in the brown leather coat gave an annoyed glance towards his companion in the dirty, white gi, who went before him. He turned around and began walking back towards the officer calling him from the other side of the security check counter.

"Please deposit everything metal that you have, sir, into the tray," spoke the security guard on duty, as he motioned him towards the gray, steel tray on the table beside him.

Logan shrugged, and he scratched his chin. "Truth is, bub, I ain't got anything metal on me," he told the officer, coughing slightly for effect.

"Excuse me, sir?" asked the officer. It wasn't like it was the first time someone had told him that.

"I'mma war vet, ya see," he began to explain. "Was one from 'Nam. To make a long story short, I got injured pretty badly. Rifle wound. Split the bone in two. They had to dig into my leg and retrieve the shrapnel, before setting my leg with metal implants. I've got documents here to prove 'em."

His hand then reached into his coat, pulling out a couple of folded papers from his inner pocket, then handed the stack to the officer. The man took a quick glance at each, eyeing them with the sort of suspicion one has come to have working for airport security. After checking the documents, he radioed a superior for confirmation. A few minutes passed and a woman in a gray suit walked towards them and scanned the documents as thoroughly as the first.

"These papers are in order, it would seem. Though I have to await confirmation from a more qualified staff at our office. Can't be too careful, you know, in this day and age," she said finally. "If you would please step out of line."

Logan sighed. Canadian heritage and a home in San Francisco aside, much like a true New Yorker, he didn't like dealing with all the extra security and precautions a paranoia-filled world offered. It was a huge pain in the ass, and besides eating up his valuable time—something the entitled citizens of the world tend to use as an argument against parking tickets—once more competent personnel get a hold of his forgeries, there are going to be a few questions that would be incredibly hard to answer.

But it wasn't like he didn't have a plan.

All he had to do was wait for her to see that—

"There are two of them, though?"

Jackpot.

"One for a Mr. Logan and one for a—"

"Laura," said Logan. "That's—ah, that's my daughter."

He gestured behind the airport security. From the line of people forming behind them stepped forward a young woman with long, straight, raven hair, and steely, green eyes, holding a rather large stuffed bear in one arm. She stood beside Logan as the two security personnel observed her movements.

"Tragic story, truth be told," he began to tell, and his voice cracked a little for effect. "Car crash… her mom—my wife—didn't make it, and my lil' girl had ta get the same kinda metal braces her dad has. The doctors tell me that… we had to do it if she wanted to be able to use her arms again. I tell ya, fate is a funny thing. I ain't exactly sure what irony is, on account of my never having finished grade school—"

_Right._

"—but… it's either that or a bad joke, this thing that happened ta us. It's a cruel world, I tell ya, this one we're living in."

The woman lifted her eyes from the documents she was holding, and she and her subordinate officer looked at each other. That moment, Logan knew that he had them right where he wanted them. The way their pupils dilated, their eyes twitched, their arms and knees bent, their mouth curved, their eyelids fluttered—he knew that they were buying his sob story enough for them not to notice the quite excellent, yet imperfect forgeries they had in their hands.

The woman handed the other man back the papers, and that officer handed them back to Logan. He swore that the man was beginning to have tears in his eyes. He was a capable liar, Logan had thought, but he didn't think he could sell it _that _good.

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir," spoke the woman, and she shook his hand. "Please know that you are a treasure to this country and we honor your sacrifice. Please, never forget that."

Logan awkwardly coughed out an appreciative thanks. The woman then patted Laura on the head, and the young lady was genuinely surprised.

"You have a good father, Miss Kinney," said the woman, and suddenly, for a second she looked doubtful. She looked at Laura momentarily, and shook her head.

"Is there a problem?" asked Laura.

"No, I'm sorry," she answered. "It's just that your last name is different from your father. I'm sorry, it must be a personal thing. I really shouldn't pry. And besides, you do seem to look like you took up quite a lot after him."

That was one way to describe someone's genetic duplicate.

Laura smiled uneasily, mostly for appearances rather than a real feeling of uneasiness. She wasn't really someone who smiles. Well, rather she doesn't really know how, but somehow she pictured that this would be the most appropriate opportunity to feign embarrassment with a wayward smile. At least that's what the books on human psychology she studied told her.

"Take care now," spoke the woman, as Laura and Logan walked past the metal detector.

The alarm blared rather loudly, but the security personnel took no notice. They waved the pair goodbye and returned to their posts soon after.

Outside, there was a faint shower overhead, as Laura covered her head with the hood of her blue, woolen coat. She buried the teddy bear underneath it, and with some effort, pulled the heavy trolley behind her as they exited the airport terminal.

It would seem that the stage has been set.

"Feeling guilty, Logan?" she asked the burly man in the leather jacket, walking just behind her.

"Shut it," he responded. He had on a single backpack, and a large, black duffel bag he lugged around with one arm. "I had ta do that and you know it."

"I did not take you for a good liar, though," responded Laura. "I have to hand it to you, I did not think you would actually go through with it. I would also like to note how it was particularly—how does the word sound?—'guilt-trippy' when she shook your hand. To lie to get past security was one thing, but to pretend to be a crippled war veteran—"

"I _am_ a vet, ain't I?" he snapped back. "And these adamantium bones _are, _strictly speaking, metal implants. Just not in the way most people who got them have them. I wasn't really lyin' the whole time, so you can get offa that high horse you're on."

He sighed, as he fished a cigar out of his left pocket, while his other hand fumbled for a lighter he wasn't sure he had been able to pack on the trip back home. He hadn't.

Right in front of him, the young woman in the warm, blue coat who looked to be in her teens shook her head, before staring at the silver, steel-furnished Zippo in her hand. She flipped it open, and the flame burned intensely, bright and orange under the light drizzle of rain.

He turned around and glared at her, unimpressed.

"Laura," he growled, "give it."

"Smoking is bad for you, Logan," she told him, condescendingly. The rather large teddy bear hiding from the rain under her coat nodded, seemingly in agreement with her. It was unnerving to look at this teenager with the scary eyes as she held an adorable stuffed animal. There was just something incredibly wrong about it, and at the same time rather cute, but _wrong_. "You should quit while you are ahead."

"I have a healing factor, too, y'know," he snapped back. "Less powerful than yours, but more than enough to keep me from getting bronchitis, if that's what you're worried about. Now hand me back the lighter."

She closed it shut, and pocketed it. "Maybe some other time," she decided, before a smile crept onto her face. She read before that smiling like this tended to psych out opponents, like how some of her less disciplined allies liked to banter with foes while fighting. Though she had always thought that they were real dorks for doing so. "Fight me for it, though?"

Logan glared at her. On any other day, the next moment would have had him popping his claws out through his knuckles with an audible _Snikt!, _as the sound of them grinding against his metal bones while ripping the flesh and skin of his hands tended to be.

But that didn't happen. He simply closed his eyes, and drew a deep breath.

"You're learning well, Logan," spoke their companion in the dirty, white gi. Barefoot and carrying only a light, white duffel bag, he didn't even bother covering himself as the raindrops poured, soaking him slightly. "You're learning to curb your anger."

How _he _was able to get past security in the get-up he had was something Logan couldn't wrap his head around.

"Well, that's pretty degradin', kid," Logan told him. "I ain't so petty as to get mad over not getting a smoke. She can keep the damn lighter for all I care."

"But you _were_ getting angry," argued Laura, smiling triumphantly. A genuine smile, something she never realized she could do, and yet she could. She never noticed it, of course, how her lips curved and her teeth showed, making her more adorable than she should be. "I was almost under the impression that you forgot the reason why we went to Japan in the first place."

"One of the reasons," corrected Logan, and he started to list them off. "We went there to look for Akuma, remember? And to get a little training going on especially after the last time we saw him."

"But the Hand had nothing on him," remarked Ryu. "Plus, you exhausted all your contacts trying to find him."

"There's good in that, too. At least we know now that he ain't workin' fer anyone we know that could use him."

"Akuma was never one to work for anyone," reminded Ryu, "unless in the course of 'working' he could be faced with opponents that could match his skill."

"Right, which is why we ain't stopping 'til we find him. As for the thing Stark mentioned—"

Laura cut him off. "I would rather we not talk so openly about that," she advised him, as the three of them neared the airport's relatively empty front gates. "The walls have ears. He listens and he waits, remember?"

"There ain't no walls here," argued Logan. They continued to walk towards the airport parking lots. "That's just Stark being paranoid. You heard how his voice was like last night when he called."

Ryu looked up, and noticed the black sky above them. The clouds swirled unnaturally as the rain started to pour harder. His eyebrows furrowed. "There are always walls," he spoke sagely.

"Then we break 'em down," retorted Logan confidently. "Keep moving forward, right? Whatever comes our way, we ram 'em and keep on goin' full throttle."

Ryu smiled. He was thinking the exact, same thing.

They continued their walk as Logan looked up and saw the dark clouds above them for himself. "It's been stormy when we left, and we come back to same thing. This ain't normal."

"It is not exactly strange," spoke Laura. She gripped the coat she wore with one hand, as she held the teddy bear tighter with the other. The cold, December winds started blowing down on them. "Rains are not exactly rare during this time of year, even if winter is just around—"

She stopped and looked around her. It was only then that she noticed the snow piled up on the ground, and that she has been crushing them under the heel of her boots for the past five minutes or so.

It was surprising, that a young woman who could analyze the twelve quickest ways to kill a man and the next twenty-three best ways to simply maim him with a glance, didn't notice the white, winter wonderland vibes of her surroundings, even as the snow had been packed and piled up to about two feet beneath her.

She might have acknowledged the snow had some sort of enemy assassin been hiding in it, as her senses have been honed for her to notice just that, but when it came to appreciating the beauty of nature around her, they were next to useless. One couldn't blame her, honestly.

Bad people tend break good ones, and the people who raised her were considerably worse than evil.

"Winter already came," noted Logan, as he surveyed the place. "Something's definitely not right. The weather is messed up."

"Define 'not right'," requested Laura. "'Not right' as in 'not of the norm' or 'not right' as in 'something sinister is about to happen'."

"Latter," he responded, and a small smirk appeared on his face. He turned towards her and said, "Laura, this is the most I've heard you talk in a long time. You've always been quiet and unresponsive, so I guess it's a good thing that you're… y'know, talkin'. It's sappy and I'm no good at it, this kinda thing, but well, I just wanna say I appreciate that you're at least trying to communicate with people now. If it's because findin' ourselves on this world—in this situation—made it necessary for you to interact with other people… well, I-I guess what I'm tryin' to say is that I'm proud of you, child."

Laura's face flushed. She wasn't prepared for this, and she was usually prepared for anything and everything. "D-Do not call me a—"

"Don't call ya for what you are?" asked Logan preemptively.

"I…" she began, but she hesitated. Her mouth then curved in a way it has never done before, and if there had been any doubt that that day wasn't anything out of the ordinary, that simple act would be enough to convince anyone who knew her that yes, it was the end times.

Laura Kinney was pouting.

"…T-Thank you… Logan," she mumbled. "It is not easy to say this, and you may not think it is true, but as a father you have been—"

She suddenly stopped. Her eyes opened wide and both her ears twitched. She hung her nose upwards and took note of the scent in the air. Quite a moment had passed before Logan and Ryu noticed that she had stopped walking, and she was already quite a ways from them when they started to backtrack towards her, as she was too busy processing the scent the wind brought to notice the two of them anyway.

She was definitely her father's daughter/opposite sex clone.

"What's the matter, darlin'?" asked Logan. "Weren't you saying somethin'? That as a father I was—"

He stopped just as suddenly. Sniffing the scent of the air around them, he found it uncanny.

"Logan?" asked Ryu, confusedly. He could never quite get used to the two of them going about and smelling the air.

It reminded him too much of when Chun-Li once asked him to come help her try on perfumes at the local mall. Needless to say, it was a harrowing experience he would rather not share with anyone.

"You sense it, too, Logan?" queried Laura, and her eyebrows furrowed. "Of course, you do. It is still some thousand miles from here. The east wind is telling me that much."

"No," he answered. "It's closer than that. Or is 'bout to be. It's coming in _fast."_

The stage was now lit, the actors were in place, and if everyone would please take their seat, in a few minutes the show was about to begin the opening act. It was a comedy, they said. Or a tragedy? A drama, even? Everyone would be watching, and none had the slightest clue about what they were about to witness.

"But how? A missile strike on New York," said Laura calmly. She took a deep breath. "There are five, no… _six _of them. It would seem that S.H.I.E.L.D. is not doing anything at all to stop them. At this distance they should already be shooting them down."

"Unless something's keeping 'em busy. Dammit. Shoulda guessed something like this was about to go down. My gut's been goin' crazy all mornin', and my gut is never wrong," replied Logan. "And no, it's not a missile strike."

"Pardon?"

"The nose knows," said Logan. "No warheads. Missiles, but it's something else. They're carrying something else."

"Impressive," remarked Laura. "Even I could not discern that from the smell."

"Years of practice will do that to you, kid, and I've had plenty. Been through two world wars," he admitted. "But enough chatter, we need to go find our chaperone. Right now my gut's tellin' me that the weather won't be the only thing feelin' apocalyptic 'round here for long."

And he was right. Everything burns. Everything dies.

* * *

><p><strong>Tick, tock went the clock on the wall, flicking the seconds of the day away like crumbs on the dining room table.<strong>

They were going to war. He tried to tell them that, but they couldn't hear him. He could only growl and hiss as he glared at them with four, unblinking eyes, and they stared back at him. There was nothing he could do. They put him to sleep, telling him that everything was going to be okay. That he need not worry. They could do it, can't he see? They were going to turn him back to normal.

But he shouted at them, told them that there were bigger things at stake. Much more important things than turning him back to the way he was. He told them that things _weren't_ okay, and they _never_ will be. They were going to war, couldn't they see that? No. No, they probably couldn't. They were too complacent, too blinded to see what was already in front of them.

Plus, not understanding a word of what he said probably added to that.

They have no idea about the kinds of things he's seen—the sights his eyes have laid upon in that dark, decrepit part of the universe. The horrors that were forced upon them, and how vividly the two orbs in his skull watched the Earth as it was swallowed by fangs the size of skyscrapers, mouths that spewed fire and molten rock, and appendages that brushed the sky and disturbed the clouds.

He was screaming. In his head he was screaming, lashing out at them for not realizing it.

War had come to them. The lights were dimmed, the curtains were drawn, and if everyone would be so kind as to take their seats, that would be splendid. The show is about to start, and none of you will want to miss this.

* * *

><p><strong>"Am I really seeing this?" he asked, half in disbelief and half in amazement at what he was witnessing, while a small part of him was completely and understandably terrified. He pulled the coat he was wearing tighter around himself, as the rain started to pour slightly harder. "Is this really happening?"<strong>

It was a blue winter jacket, his coat, and needless to say it was entirely inappropriate given the setting. Chun-Li stood beside him, completely occupied with her muddy boots and rain-drenched coat. Hers was a white, woolen winter coat that reached just below her hips, with a hood and cuffs that were lined with fur. She was upset, understandably, over the dirt on her clothes, and on any other day she would be completely justified with being annoyed and angry over the whole thing. But once you start devoting your full attention towards your ruined footwear instead of the giant, swirling mass of massive, black clouds overhead, it was probably a good time to start reevaluating your priorities.

"I know, right?" moaned Chun-Li, as she checked the mud on her once clean, white boots. "I mean, I even bought stockings that match this ensemble. This sucks. If I only knew that it was gonna rain… but it snowed this morning, didn't it? It's winter already! How come it's raining again? Ugh. This sucks _so_ much."

Behind them, the car was left running, and the radio blared loudly over the sound of the raindrops crashing onto the snow-covered pavement.

_Some people call me the space cowboy… some call me the gangster of love~_

"Huh?" exclaimed Phoenix.

"I mean, look at this!" she cried, as she shook her coat. "I have to brush my boots, and have this coat dry cleaned. I hate this. I hate this so—God, is this mud on my coat? _There's mud on my coat."_

"What are you—?"

"See? Here," she told him, and brought the tiny speck of mud that somehow splashed onto her left sleeve to his attention. "There's mud on my sleeve. Where the heck did this—"

Phoenix stared at her in disbelief. "Miss Chun-Li…"

"Hmm?" she mouthed, as he pointed towards the sky. "Oh, you were talking about the giant, whirling spiral in the stratosphere that somehow appeared suddenly without us seeing it surface? Well, uh… let me see… it looks scary, I guess."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…Is that all you have to say?" he asked her.

"…Have I told you how much this coat costs?" she asked back.

"$1400."

"Exactly! Don't you understand, Mr. Wright?" she began to tell him. "I could have bought a PlayStation 4 with that money, and maybe a 3DS—the limited edition one for _Pokemon X and Y—_and maybe an Xbox One for exclusives, then even have enough left over to donate to charity. Or maybe with what's left over, I could buy a whole set of New 52 issues. But then again, I'll have a better deal if I wait for the trades. Though I heard reviews weren't too good with all the new books… or at least that's what the Internet says. They say the _Batman _books by Scott Snyder are actually pretty—"

"I can't believe this conversation is actually happening," groaned Phoenix, unamused, as he started to realize how weird the people he's met are. He really should have noticed sooner.

Chun-Li smiled cheekily.

"Mr. Wright, I understand you're upset—"

"I hadn't noticed."

"—but it's only because you're not used to this ordeal yet," she explained to him rather coolly. "For you, the day you witnessed a giant, whirling spiral made of terrible, dark clouds ominously hanging overhead in the sky might become the single, greatest moment of your life. But for me, it's Tuesday."

_Today's Monday, actually._

"Right, whatever," grumbled Phoenix. "So…"

"So… what?"

"Aren't you… going to do anything about it?" he asked her.

She stared at him, confused.

"Mr. Wright, I'm only human," she said, not exactly the answer he was looking for. "I hope you're not thinking that I can just kick that giant, whirling mass of sinister cotton candy in its cloud face for it to stop."

_What is it with these people and the weird imagery?_

"Then are we just going to stand here in the rain doing absolutely nothing?" he asked, dryly.

"Pretty much, yes. And don't forget that we're waiting for friends," she admitted. She looked around them, and with a puzzled expression evidently clear on her face, almost as an afterthought, she asked, "Why are we standing outside again?"

In the distance, another explosion rumbled the sky, showering it in a display of light and debris. A brilliant ball of fire and smoke in a scenery swallowed in darkness, the immense fireball roared with a cacophony of sound audible for miles around.

A distinct blue mist seemed to seep out of it, but remained unnoticed by either of them.

"Right," mumbled Chun-Li. "Now I remember. That's five now."

From some distance away, she could hear someone call her name. Three people were running towards them, and Chun-Li waved at them expectantly.

She met them with a smile.

"Glad you guys can join us," she greeted them, patting the girl with the raven-colored hair on the head. She seemed to attract that kind of affectionate gesture, though no one has ever called attention to it. Or maybe Laura was just adorable.

Not that X-23 would understand why, either way.

"Ditto," spoke the short, hairy man.

He was messy, Phoenix had noticed, and a little greasy. There was a slight slur in the way he spoke, and Phoenix wasn't sure if it had something to do with alcohol, or if a perpetually growling, raspy voice is what superheroes have these days. He was right in a way, on both counts.

Noticing Phoenix, as he was standing but a foot from her, Logan asked Chun-Li, "Who's the porcupine?"

_Huh? _thought Phoenix, surprised. _B-But, I'm wearing a _hood. _How did he kn—?_

"Phoenix Wright," answered Phoenix. "I'm the, uh… new guy."

"He's a crossover-er… no, wait," mumbled Chun-Li. "Crossover-ist? Crossover-ian? He's a crossover… an x-over… crossoverine? A cross… cross… ugh, dammit. He hopped universes without consciously wanting to, like us. We found him the other day."

Logan looked him over, seemingly unimpressed. Phoenix, quite frankly, was intimidated by the short man with the weird, pointy hair and muttonchops.

"Look," spoke Logan. "Nice ta meet ya, bub. And as much as I'd like to introduce the rest of my posse—"

"He already knows who you guys are," interrupted Chun-Li.

"Huh?"

"I told him everything I know about you three while waiting for you in the car," she explained. Logan stared at her incredulously. "…I was bored, and you guys were taking too long."

"Right, anyway," started Logan, shaking his head, leading Phoenix to believe that this sort of thing happened often, "we need to get back to Stark Tower, pronto. I'm pretty sure you guys saw the—"

Something zipped past above them, some several hundred feet up, its loud roar not unlike that of a fighter jet breaking the sound barrier. The trail of smoke it left hanging in the air made it clear that it was heading for New York.

"One got past them," remarked Logan, his perpetually gruff expression masking the fact that he knew they were in some real deep—"Shit. And just when I thought S.H.I.E.L.D. was starting to pick up some slack—"

"Those explosions were _missiles?" _cried Phoenix.

"Yeah, and as soon as they entered United States waters, the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier should have blasted them to kingdom come," he explained. "Meaning something's happenin' at the Helicarrier. Something we should be concerned about… but now ain't the time. And as bad as that sounds, that ain't the worst part of this situation we just now found ourselves in."

"What do you mean?" asked Chun-Li.

"Those missiles are carrying something," spoke Laura, and she gripped her coat tighter around her. "Whenever one exploded, a blue mist seeped out. I could not tell what it was at first, but as they drew closer, I recognized the scent they were giving off… those missiles are carrying biochemical agents in a gas form."

"Yeah," agreed Logan, as he looked up at the sky. "Luckily for us, at the height the missiles exploded at, the rain can disperse the gas enough so it won't be dangerous in the amounts it'll be in when it reaches ground level. Maybe it can even disperse it completely, makin' whatever stuff that's in it lose effect. Unluckily, that last missile's losin' altitude as it goes farther. My guess is that it'll hit New York at a height near the top of most skyscrapers, and explode, showering the city in whatever that gas is, and my second guess is that we ain't want that ta happen. Am sure our people will be able to take care of it. But in case the worst goes down, we need to get to Stark Tower."

"Wait," muttered Phoenix, "so we're heading _into_ the city that's about to be doused in some killer gas?"

"The Tower is the safest place in the whole damn city," spoke Logan, as he entered the car. He shifted gears as the rest of them went in after him. "Stark made sure of that, and I'm betting that if that thing even hits the Manhattan, that tower'll be the only thing sterilized and untouched in the whole downtown area."

They all buckled in, as Logan stepped on the gas and turned the steering wheel. The engine purred seductively as he made his way out of the parking lot gates and onto the main road back to New York City.

"Besides, I'm pretty sure Stark's got a plan for something like this."

* * *

><p><strong>"<strong>_**No, I don't think I do,"**_** he heard Tony grunt in a synthesized voice as he began to come back to consciousness. His head was still in a daze for some reason, but as nauseous and dizzy as he was, he felt like there was something that he needed to tell them. That there was something that he needed to warn them about. **_**"No, I'm going myself. I can stop it. Right, there's something happening there right now, I know it. Yeah, bring Dante and Trish along. Dante needs to get his head screwed back on. Deadpool? Can't you just… right, sorry. Then let him tag along if he wants to tag along."**_

He opened his eyes. A stunning blonde with periwinkle lipstick and wide, blue eyes was looming over his bed, looking intently at him.

"He's awake," spoke Emma with a smile. It was subtle, her reaction, but one could tell right away how relieved she was. She ruffled his hair like one would with a child, and declared, "Congratulations, goddesses and gentlemen. We've successfully pulled someone back from the dead. I think a congratulatory pat on the back is in order. Cognac for everyone, my treat."

Gali, standing on the other side of the room, crossed her arms over her chest.

"I am not a goddess," she spoke. She then walked over towards the windows and stared outside, whispering, "And I do not drink.'

From where she had been standing, Ammy sprinted towards the young man lying on the bed. She leapt at him, as she would in the form she would have been more comfortable in instead of the human form she then sported, and embraced him tightly. She nuzzled her head into his chest, as she loved to do with everyone, and uncharacteristically purred, contentedly.

She's been spending too much time with Felicia, apparently.

"Ow! Ammy… ow," he cried, startled. He then started stroking her hair, as they would always do with her in the way she was then. "Easy, Ammy. I'm happy to see you, too. It's just… ow, my body's really aching right now."

Ammy looked up at him with her sad, puppy dog eyes, and he sighed.

"Right," he conceded. "Right, you can keep doing it if you really want to."

"You're a sucker for the cute ones, aren't you, Pete?" spoke a voice. A tiny, green bu—_wandering artist, _appeared from behind Ammy's ear.

"Aren't we all?" he replied. "I prefer redheads, though. And maybe blondes."

Emma gave him a sharp flick to the forehead.

"Ow! Kidding, I'm kidding," he told her.

"_You feeling okay, Pete?" _asked Tony, as he approached him, decked in his modern Mark 35. His helmet started to retract outwards, and the wide grin he sported conspicuously brought out a lot of deep lines on his face. "You've been out for a while, if you haven't realized yet. We believed you were _dead."_

"Dead?"

_"Dead,"_ repeated Tony, with more emphasis, "and when we got to wake you up you developed, well… you grew an extra pair of eyes, spider legs were coming out your back, and stingers were protruding out of your wrists."

"That sounds painful," remarked Peter nonchalantly. "I think I kind of remember Emma putting me to sleep… then Hank was holding some sort of vial… but the rest…"

"Can you remember what happened while you were out?" Emma asked him.

He remembered vaguely a dark plane with burning skies, a black monster with one, yellow eye and a menacing grin… a flaming head… teeth that tore the skies and limbs and scattered clouds… but…

"I can't… remember," he admitted. "Everything seems like… it happened in a blur."

"You are fortunate, Peter Parker," spoke Gali, as she hovered quietly to where everyone had gathered. "Using my technologically advanced knowledge and equipment, combined with Henry Pym's expertise on entomology—"

"Spiders are arachnids, though." He doesn't seem to recall her as the kaleidoscope-eyed young woman with the rectangular pupils that he saved from the alley.

_"—whatever._ Using our combined abilities, I was able to synthesize a serum that reversed the advanced effects of your radiation-based mutation. If it were not so horrific to you humans, I would consider the discovery that your blood, in combination with a pure strain of the T-virus, acting as a catalyst to further your radiation-based arachnid mutations, to be a wonderful thing. A gift, for lack of a more appropriate word."

"Say what now?"

"Right. Funny thing, actually," explained Tony. "To elaborate on what she said, it turns out that the T-virus only sped up your mutation, acting in tandem with your blood. The thing with the spider limbs, and the fangs, and the stingers, and the other spider whatevers is actually natural to your unique physiology, so they're not technically caused by the T-virus. It's a mutative course your body will go through give or take few years, though Hank believes that you actually have a level of subconscious control over—"

"_What?" _exclaimed Peter. "Hold on. I understood what she said the first time. The _'What?' _I did was an expression depicting a reaction that means something along the lines of _'What the—'"_

Just then, the speakers in the hallways started to blare: _Announcement: "Protocol code B91939 "Paladin" engaged. Danger level 6. ETA to defense protocol activation "Cleric" is six minutes and counting."_

"Was that… was that _GLaDOS?" _asked Peter, in a tone of voice that conveyed a cross between curiosity and fear. Sheer, unadulterated fear. "You _actually_ thought that you'd like GLaDOS to voice announcements?"

"Yeah," answered Tony, embarrassed, in the kind of voice that screamed the fact that he has never played _Portal._ "I wanted to surprise you guys with that. Paid Valve good money to let Ellen McLain do the voice. I thought you'd like it. JARVIS seems to like it."

"_As a matter of fact, I do like her, sir. I appreciate how she especially takes the load of some of the more dreary tasks."_

"_ETA to defense activation protocol "Cleric" is five minutes and thirty seconds. ETA to possible death by assumed nuclear missile is seven minutes and fifteen seconds. Meanwhile, cake has been baked for the imminent revival of test subject Peter Benjamin Parker. It is now available for pick up in the pantry of the residential wing. Thanks."_

"_See what I mean, sir? She has this rather droll way of reporting incoming disasters as if she was announcing red light sales that I can respect. It's really something."_

"…Test subject?" asked Peter, doubtfully.

"Ellen must have had taken some liberties with the scripts I gave her," said Tony, shrugging it off. "I wasn't there at the recording. Pepper was."

Peter shook his head. "If she starts telling me that," and in slightly higher-pitched, monotone voice, he said, "'the Enrichment Center is required to remind you that you will be baked, and then there will be cake', I'm going to break her drive core in two."

"_You may try."_

A few seconds went by before it clicked in everyone's heads that that wasn't normal.

"What the _hell?"_ cried Peter.

"_Apologies," _spoke the voice, before it turned into an obviously male, British-sounding one, _"I couldn't resist."_

There was an enduring silence afterwards.

"Right, well," spoke Tony, as his helmet began to cover his face. _"I really need to go now. Satellites indicate that one last missile is left. I don't know what the hell is wrong with S.H.I.E.L.D., but I can only take care of one problem at a time. Good thing Cap is taking care of that one."_

He then turned to Emma and spoke:

"_I'm leaving everything in your care until Cap comes back."_

"I appreciate the trust," spoke Emma, and a rather smug smile appeared on her face.

Iron Man turned towards the single window in the room, and raised it. His thrusters were the first to go off, and then shortly after the repulsors in his palms activated. He blasted off into the stormy abyss a millisecond later, hoping that he would be able to come back in time for cake.

He won't be.

* * *

><p><strong>The multiverse—the set of all reality—is virtually limitless: ever-expanding, ever-growing, exponentially increasing in capacity until the end of time. But, like all things, it is also limited. A contradiction if there ever was one, as Phoenix Wright would soon point out, with his index finger stretched out far and firm towards the heavens.<strong>

But as he would just as soon eventually acquiesce to agreeing, the fundamental existence of reality relied on the mutual existence of contradicting elements, sometimes on the same dimensional plane. What is chosen, and what is unchosen—the key idea to understanding what constitutes reality is that by its very definition, the multiverse, made up entirely of interconnected universes, is built upon the interlocking relationships between contradicting decisions.

But that is not the point. Now, what has been established is that the limitless, ever-expanding multiverse is at the same time limited. Therefore, outside of its limitations, outside its borders, there is a nothingness.

A sea of nothingness, where there is no such thing as existence. Where nothing _is._

And it is in this place—or unplace, if one would prefer to call it for what it is—that _they_ came into being. The Many-Angled Ones, a race of eldritch abominations who somehow exist on a non-existential plane, and whose purpose and origin will, for all eternity, ultimately remain unknown. But as fearsome as they are, they are not important. What _is _important to know is that from within their ranks spawned a creature so vile and malicious that his mere presence has shattered worlds.

His true name is unintelligible, unspeakable in the tongues of all sentient races, existing only in a pitch none in the multiverse can hear, and especially none can produce. His true form is inconceivable, and some dark echoes drifting through the solar winds go as far as to say that merely witnessing his real face for just a fraction of a millisecond would drive even the sanest man alive to lunacy. His true purpose is unknown, perhaps even unfathomable to mere mortal minds, but whatever they may be, for they come from the mind that gave birth to sinister thoughts and wicked deeds they spell only doom for the universe.

The Celestials call him "The Withering Devourer". The cosmic daughter Gali prefers to see him as "The Unclosing Eye". He is said to be the unheard howls of the universe. Some say he is the emptiness outside of all understanding. There are others who speak of him as the black dreams of dead stars.

But for most he is simply Shuma-Gorath, its meaning having been lost in the eons that had passed from its conception, and now is only fondly known as the name of the monster who has crawled its way into the universe that spawned all others. He has seated himself in the knot at the center of the great cosmic web, the one that keeps all its threads, spun over countless millennia, intact.

And most detrimental to the ordeal at hand, he is gunning for the Planet Eater.

**"**_**Thirty meters to target, sir," **_**spoke JARVIS.**

The rain was a full-on storm now, and visibility was near zero. It wasn't really a problem, as the Iron Man armor could steer itself in a pitch black store with shelves full of priceless China without even the slightest input from Tony Stark.

What ticked him off was that with the amount of rain that was pouring, he wouldn't be able to see a billboard on the street ahead with his face on it. It was an ad for cosmetics, to tell the truth, and one of the only reasons Tony even agreed to doing it is that he was told one of the billboards would be visible from Stark Tower, which in his mind, effectively gave off the vibe that he was constantly monitoring his employees.

It wasn't, because the nearest one was two blocks away.

"_I never did know if I looked good in that shot," _he told his A.I.

"_I'm certain you look your best, sir," _responded JARVIS.

"_Your tone isn't the least bit comforting. Sounds more like you're needlessly heckling me."_

"_Well, obviously, that's because _you_ designed me, sir. Needless and ultimately self-destructive optimism is part of my central programming."_

Just then, the missile just shot past him.

"_And there he goes," _cried Tony, as he made a U-turn. He flew towards it, steadying his speed as he positioned himself underneath it. _"No room for error. Slow and steady, JARVIS, just like we practiced."_

"_We've never done a simulation like this before, sir."_

"_Again, like I said, you're needlessly heckling me."_

"_Once more, it's in my programming, sir. The Laws of Robotics prevent me from going against it."_

_"One of these days, I'm going to have to recheck your coding."_

He steadied his pace with that of the missile, and gently, he grabbed onto it and began lifting it, changing its trajectory.

"_Angle of flight trajectory has changed accordingly to our desired flight pattern," _confirmed JARVIS. _"Missile is no longer on path detrimental to the safety of the city."_

At this urging, Iron Man lets go, and the missile shoots skywards towards the clouds.

"_Right, and for the pièce de résistance," _he declared, as his chest piece glowed a bright blue. A Unibeam shot out of his armor and blasted the missile, making it explode into a shower of light over the New York skyline.

Iron Man sighed.

_"Well, that was embarrassingly easy. Crisis averted in less than three minutes. It's like we just set a new 'everything goes right' speed record."_

"_Analyzing…"_

"_Huh?" _mumbled Tony. He only just noticed the blue mist leaking from the explosion. _"What is it, JARVIS?"_

"_It looks to be a virus, sir. Of a strain structurally similar to that of the T-virus."_

"_What?" _cried Tony. _"Let me see."_

A chart appeared on his helmet's HUD, as JARVIS explained his findings. _"Structurally similar to the T-virus, but with a pattern of mutation and duplication similar to known samples of the G-virus. There also seems to be trace patterns of the T-Veronica virus in the genetic make-up of its RNA, particularly with its form of spreading and infection. There also seems to be trace amounts of…"_

"_Of? Don't leave me hanging, buddy."_

"…_unknown."_

"_Unknown?"_

"_There are traces of an unknown fourth component that seems to be holding everything together, strengthening the individual aspects of the combined viruses, synthesizing into a single, durable organism. This fourth compound seems to be mutating the virus."_

Iron Man hovered in the air, thinking for a bit. This was a serious predicament. To think that Wesker was planning to bomb New York City and make it a breeding ground for a whole, new strain of a weaponized virus. There was nothing about it in Agent Valentine's reports, and she has never failed them once before.

If it wasn't already obvious, something was dead wrong.

_"Take a sample of this new virus. I think I know what the secret ingredient is. Tell Hank to cultivate copies in the lab for testing. I'll stay for a while until the gas disperses completely. We're damn lucky it's raining or else—"_

"_Sir, the virus seems to be spreading."_

Tony's eyes widened.

"_Spreading? How?"_

"_I'm doing an analysis of the surrounding environment. The virus is spreading and multiplying at an exponential rate."_

"_Wait, how? There's nothing here, we're several thousand feet in the air, and I don't see a family of geese anywhere."_

JARVIS, for a moment, became silent.

"_The virus seems to be spreading at ground level."_

"_**Where?"**_

"_Sixty-five meters west-northwest, approximately. Hurry, sir."_

War had begun. It was obvious that after that day, nothing would ever be the same.

At an intersection where a construction site for a high-rise apartment and a Do-It-Yourself specialty shop were located, some several dozen people could be seen shambling on the street, unmindful of the rain and freezing winds. Their skins were grayish, and their teeth were gnashing in their unhinged jaws. Several cars skidded across the wet roads, crashing into each other, trying to avoid the dead-eyed mass of people. These monsters only response was to lunge at the vehicles and break the doors through the sheer weight of their numbers, extracting the people inside.

With their teeth bared, they buried them deep into the soft skins and flesh of the hapless bastards they could get their bony hands on, ripping them apart limb from limb until they succumbed to their infection, or degraded into human minced meat. But whatever their fate was, what was ensured was that the virus continued to spread.

And spread it did.

There was chaos, certainly, and like orchestral music, the virus and chaos were in harmony together as they were disseminated on that stormy afternoon devoid of light, in the span of mere minutes. The massacre set an all-new 'everything goes wrong' speed record.

"_Dear God, no," _whispered Tony under his breath, as a brand new horde marched in the streets of New York, and as New Yorkers everywhere screamed and shrieked and panicked en masse. It was clear to them that 'hell on Earth' was a reality they couldn't have anticipated.

The game was afoot. The pieces were in place and the first move has been made.

The world was a stage, it had been said once, and this particular play on this most special of stages had begun. The opening act had started gloriously on such a somber note that no one had any idea regarding what it was about. It was a comedy, they said. Or a tragedy? A drama, even?

It was a pity. Everyone would be watching, and yet none had the slightest clue about what they were about to witness.

And they say the title of the play, apparently, is also how it ends: _Everything dies._

**End of Chapter 13**

* * *

><p><strong>END OF ACT II<strong>


	14. Interlude: Out of Sight

**Turnabout Crossover**

* * *

><p><strong>Interlude: OUT OF SIGHT<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>In the far future. The Eternal Library of the Celestials.<strong>_

**It seems like ages, eons even, had passed when she first stepped into that Library at the end of reality. She wasn't really sure what had led her there, for never before has she traveled the distance of what is equivalent to several unvigintillion lifetimes on a whim.**

And yes, a 'lifetime' can be used as a unit for measuring distance, though its value is dependent solely on Death at the time of measurement, and she doesn't really take time to consider the math. It doesn't mean that it took the daughter cosmic as long as that many lifetimes to reach her destination either. Time and space were wonky like that, and it's quite easy to see that as she simply warped through several creases in space-time in order to come upon the Library, with great cosmic powers come great perks.

What had she to gain by going there? She hadn't the slightest clue.

She pushed the door open. "Hello?" she whispered.

The same librarian greeted her as she entered.

"Galacta," spoke the young woman at the front desk. She had bright, red hair and wore glasses with lightly tinted lenses. "Or should it be 'Gabrielle Lilac Talbot'? Anyway, I never fancied seeing you back here."

Gali winced. "If I may correct you, I have never actually used that name."

"Oh? But it sounds delightful, that name," she spoke with a hint of sarcasm. "How come?"

"The Terrans—the Earthlings, I mean—said it sounded like something out of a… a—what was it?—a 'Stephano Mayor' novel."

The librarian pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Ah, what you meant to say is..." she began, but hesitated. It is said that in some some cultures, especially those whose whole philosophy relied on their knowledge of literature, it was extremely bad luck to say that woman's name out loud. "Anyway, _you _thought it was a wonderful name—that name you thought up for yourself—didn't you?"

"Well, I… I was simply trying to be clever," she tried to explain. "Trying to create an atmosphere of familiarity with the Terrans using allusions to their Earth literature, along with some color symbolism and wordplay."

"Wordplay?"

"_Ga_brielle Li_lac Ta_lbot. I tried to be subtle."

"That isn't wordplay. And… well, it's not like _you _can be subtle even if you tried your hardest."

"What do you mean?"

"Sweetie," said the librarian, "when people look at you, they'll know you're Galacta even before they learn what the hell 'Galacta' is supposed to be or mean."

Galacta winced.

"D-Do not be so condescending," replied Gali. "I can be subtle and… and deceptive when I want to be."

"If you don't mind me rejecting your reality and injecting mine," began the librarian, as she closed the book she was reading and placed it on her desk, "your father is a cosmic-powered entity who appears in the form of giant humanoid who wears purple and has a humongous helmet on his head. He travels around in a spaceship the size of a solar system and has inhabited planets for breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day of the week. Trust me, subtlety isn't your blood… or whatever it is you cosmic beings have in your veins. If you even have veins. Also, your pupils are rectangles _and _you have a smaller version of his helmet."

Gali clutched her helmet. She was very overprotective of it. "B-But I do not always wear… I-I did not come here to be—"

"Now that I come to think of it…"

"—insulted by—what now?"

"...you sound like some badly-written character in some terribly written fanfiction."

Gali shook her head. "I do not even know what it is you are talking about anymore."

"Which reminds me," spoke the librarian suddenly. "How _may_ I be of assistance?"

_The librarian does not look like she had changed much since I last saw her_ was a thought that Galacta shared with virtually everyone who has entered that part of the universe, although the statement _She is as annoyingly patronizing—and so very much worthy of punch to the jaw—as ever _that came after was a thought unique to her and her alone.

The thing is that the Library had neither actual staff, let alone doors nor shelves, cabinets, books, and desks. The library is a metaphysical construct, and anyone who entered the pocket dimension where it is located will be greeted with whatever form they are most comfortable seeing a library to be.

Galacta was of Earth, and so she would see the Library as how they are back home. And as such she has seen the same librarian before—a product of her imagination—during a time that seemed to have happened millennia ago. And as it was, like when she had first come, she opened the same, exact oak doors, walked on the same, exact tiled floors, and had greeted the same, exact librarian because it was what she expected doing.

"I am not exactly certain," she told the woman at the desk. "I am not even sure why I am here."

"Perhaps there's something you want?" the woman asked her.

She shook her head. "I am not sure. My task is finished. I have done my part, and yet the memory of those days continue to flood my mind. It seems that I _miss _them. It is hilarious, is it not? A child of the cosmos, a being with the power to alter reality itself, caring for lower-tiered, partially sentient, carbon-based lifeforms."

"I wouldn't know," spoke the woman, as she shuffled a stack of paper. "Frankly, the _Omega Point _is a time in our reality's history that I'm not too fond of to miss."

"And _that_ is where your thoughts and mine drift apart," she told the librarian. "I wish to gain access to the archives."

"Which one?"

"You know exactly which one."

"But do you have clearance to search _those _archives? Personally, I'm not sure I should allow you inside that vault. The Omega Point is a very sensitive topic around here, and the Eternals, Celestials, Cosmics—everyone—don't like bringing it up."

"I can imagine," spoke Galacta, dryly. "Though surely, _I_ would be allowed to see it."

"On what grounds may that—"

"You know _exactly _on what grounds."

The librarian shrugged. "Fine. But if they ask, I'll say that you gave me no choice."

And so the red-headed librarian—who Galacta imagines to be wheelchair-bound for some reason—led her through winding corridors and stairways that seemed to stretch light years, until they found themselves in front of a large metal vault. The librarian grabbed a large, gray knob at its center and twisted it around once to the right, twice to the left, and then twice to the right.

The vault door clicked. Galacta pushed it open, and beyond it lied steel shelves and cabinets as far as the eye can see, filled with several million archived documents, photographs, and film collected during the Omega Point.

"Thank you," she told the librarian, and bowed. "You may now leave."

"If the daughter cosmic wishes anything else, you know where to find me," the librarian said finally, and then departed, closing the vault behind her.

Daughter cosmic. It would seem that she had gotten attached to that name more than she realized, and that even the constructs made by her subconscious mind in that ethereal place have started calling her that.

She missed them. She really did.

But why did she come here, after promising herself that she would never want to remember those days again?

Her eyes glowed an eerie, purple glow as she hovered around the shelves and cabinets tightly packed with numerous knick-knacks and artifacts from those dark times in her past. Suddenly, she turned back and stopped moving. She closed her eyes as an intangible purple wave blasted from her body into all directions.

Seemingly sensing something, she approached one of the cabinets she had passed by and chose a drawer seemingly at random. Reaching inside, she pulled out an airtight plastic bag containing a small, brown journal with a leather cover. The word 'Redfield' was scribbled on the front rather messily.

She smiled as she looked at the small tag attached to it:

**Archived Document RE1-61998**

**Document type: Journal**

**Creator: Christopher Redfield, of Earth BIOH-1996**

**Filename: "Memories of a Lost City"**

"Ah. Well, this is a good way to begin," she remarked. "How fortunate it is that this was saved."

She ripped open the plastic bag, and extracted the journal. After staring at the shredded cover splattered with dried blood, she turned to the next page and began to read.

* * *

><p><strong>Side Chapter One: Memories of a Lost City<strong>

* * *

><p>…<p>

_**10 September**_

_I have absolutely no idea why I'm here, or what I'm supposed to be doing, or if there _is _anything that I'm supposed to do at all. Sent here to this world through circumstances I'm not even sure of, the only thing I can do is to be a good soldier and keep marching forward, fight the good fight, and all that._

_It's been six months since I found myself here, and it's been six months since I've come to know the people who found themselves here through similar circumstances. Similar people who—'crossed over' I think was the term. Similar people who crossed over to this world without any idea of how and why._

_I… I don't really know what I'm supposed to write. This wasn't really my idea, truth be told. Captain America was the one who told me to keep a journal like this one, to keep myself busy and to keep my mind off of… well, the kind of thoughts and problems that I should avoid unnecessarily stressing myself with._

_He's a good man, as far as I can tell. Captain Rogers, or Captain America as they call him, was the one who put us all together, and is the one leading this operation. I don't know why, but there's just something about him that, when I first saw him, I automatically deferred to his leadership. Every one of us did, and it doesn't seem like we made a mistake in doing so._

_But enough of talking shop. I'm writing this to relax after all. Right. Relax._

_Relax. Relax. Relax._

_Relax. Relax. Relaxing. Relax._

_Relax. Relax. Relax._

_Right. I guess just writing the word over and over doesn't take me any closer to understanding what I'm supposed to do with it._

_There's really nothing relaxing about what they sent me to do, after all. Well, what I'm _supposed_ to do is actually easy enough: keep a continuous surveillance of the main Umbrella Headquarters and the nearby facilities attached to it, and maintain contact with our allies in New York, regularly updating them on any and all suspicious activity._

_Truth is that my main source of angst is _where_ I'm going to be doing it: Raccoon City, my old hometown. A small, quiet, Midwestern city that in 1998 was turned into a radioactive crater to keep a viral outbreak from spreading. At least, that's how it's supposed to be. That's how it is in my world._

_But here, in this world… Raccoon City still stands, more than a decade after it should have collapsed. And coming back here after all these years… I just can't believe it. I feel myself tearing up, and I'm usually not one to act emotionally. But how couldn't I?_

_Dear God, I'm home._

…

_**13 September**_

_As much as I tried to avoid seeing her, I bumped into my sister while I was on my way to the grocery store. It's a small town, so there's only one supermarket in the entire area, and it wasn't unreasonable that we'd accidentally meet there. I just hoped that we wouldn't as long as I could manage to do it, but unfortunately, I couldn't._

_She was surprised, at first, to see me, but as soon as that stopped she started asking a lot of questions I didn't know the answers to. Mr. Stark, one of my new friends and allies back in New York, called it the "McFly Dilemma", after Michael J. Fox's character in those movies where he travels through time in a car whose model is virtually unheard of outside of those films._

_Right, sorry, got carried away there._

_Anyway, to keep it short, he explains that the Claire here would know me as the Chris from here, my alternate universe parallel self. I know, I've never liked science-fiction either. _Anyway,_ the best thing I could do was just go along with her, if we ever happened to meet, and pretend that I'm the Chris she knows._

_She tells me about how I seldom called after quitting my position at S.T.A.R.S. and leaving Raccoon City—that I left to see the world, or something like that. I never really thought myself to be a sentimentalist, and it made me wonder what kind of person this other Chris was._

_There were so many things different in this world, I would soon find out, but some things just stay the same. And my sister is one of those. No matter how I look at her, she's still the little Claire I know and love._

_We talked a lot that day, probably more than me and my real sister have ever talked in our entire lives. I find out that she has a PhD in botany from Raccoon University, which surprised me a lot. I've never thought of Claire as ever being into plants, honestly, but for the life of me I can't recall what she was majoring in back in my world before the whole thing with Raccoon City._

_I would have thought that she'd have started a motorcycle repair shop, or something like that, if it wasn't for that entire mess, honestly._

_She tells me that she's been maintaining a flower shop a few blocks from the hotel I was staying in. It started small, she tells me, but it's grown larger now, and that her husband helps her from time to time when he wasn't busy with police work._

_Right, imagine my surprise. I almost blew my cover after she told me that. She was married. God, if I weren't in shape, I would have probably had a heart attack right then and there. My sister is __**married**__—at least, my sister _here_ is. And who is her husband?_

_Leon Scott Kennedy. Christ, I really can't believe it._

_Chance, circumstance… they were peculiar things. The lack of a viral outbreak never stopped my sister and Leon from meeting. It was even on the same day they met in my world: September 29 of 1998. Only this time, the circumstances of the meeting were obviously different. Claire tells me, after chastising me for 'forgetting', that she was riding her motorcycle when she attempted to run through a red light. Leon was crossing the intersection in his police cruiser, she crashed into him, she had to pay a couple of fines, and to make a long story short, here they are years later._

_Claire invited me for dinner the next day, but I declined. I had a secret ops scheduled that day, but told her I'd make it on the 15th. It was a Sunday, after all._

…

_**15 September**_

_That thing about chance and circumstance that I've talked about once? It's a funny thing._

_Earlier tonight, like I promised her I had dinner with my sister. It wasn't anything special, honestly, and the dinner isn't really the point of why I'm writing right now. What I want to write about, rather, is _who_ was at dinner with us._

_Of course there was Leon, who I still cannot believe is married to my sister here. I don't really find anything wrong with him, really. He's a good man, and I'd rather not have my sister marrying any other kind of man. It's just that I never really thought that my sister would marry, ever. Call it whatever you want, but there's no such thing as a big brother who doesn't feel uneasy about his little sister getting married. Or _being _married, as the case is._

_Anyway, this isn't about Leon either._

_Earlier this evening, I was eating dinner with my sister. Leon sat beside me, and across the table from him sat Claire, and beside her and across the table from me, sat Sherry Birkin._

_Back in my world, Sherry Birkin was the daughter of premier Umbrella scientists William and Annette Birkin, the creators of a more advanced mutagenic virus derived from the original Progenitor virus: the G-virus. I say 'was' because her parents died during the outbreak in Raccoon City, leaving her orphaned and alone._

_So as the story goes, William Birkin injected himself—or he was injected? I wouldn't know, I was never there—with his own creation, mutating into a horrific abomination that hunted down his now orphaned daughter. Why?_

_Because as his daughter, she was compatible. Because he—or rather, the monster—would be able to reproduce by infecting her. Fortunately, my sister—my real sister—and Leon found her, and the three of them fought through a city overrun by monsters and the undead to survive the nightmare._

_Sorry, but Claire has a flair for romanticism. And I'm only telling it the way she told it to me the first time. Though why I'm explaining myself to a journal is beyond me. Maybe this 'relaxing' thing is starting to kick in._

_Anyway, why am I telling you all of this?_

_Because somehow—and I don't know how—some things never change, no matter where you are._

_William and Annette Birkin are still dead since 1998, at least, as far as I know, leaving their young daughter alone. And who is it that have happened to have been taking care of her since then?_

_Claire and Leon._

_I find it hilarious, for some horrible reason, just thinking about it. Raccoon City was never overrun and nuked in 1998, but my sister Claire and Leon still met—and God, I still can't get over the fact that my sister is married—and the two of them still met Sherry Birkin—whose parents still died—and have apparently been taking care of her ever since. She doesn't treat them like they're her parents though—she acts more like a little sister, the way I see it—but all that matters is that she's with them._

_I guess some things are just meant to be._

_For the rest of the night we just talked, the four of us, and I tried my best not to sound suspicious with my constant questions about the things they sometimes mention—events I couldn't have known to have happened. They don't seem to think that I'm some sort of impostor, which is nice._

_After dinner, as I was about to go after thanking them for the meal, Claire offered that I should stay in with them. I tried to decline, as I was afraid that if I stayed with them, they'd find out the truth about me. And more importantly, it could jeopardize my mission. I mean, it's not like I can just hide my surveillance equipment in the room I'll be staying at in their house._

_But Claire insisted, and Leon and Sherry even told me that I shouldn't feel uneasy around them. We were practically family after all, they tell me. Maybe we were._

_So I stayed. It's not like I had a choice._

…

* * *

><p><strong>Gali held the small book in her hands, turning the yellowed, bloodstained pages as delicately as she could, carefully managing not to tear the already worn-out leaves of the journal.<strong>

The next few pages contained shorter entries, as Chris Redfield detailed life in his old hometown, something he never knew he would experience again. He would write about watching the football games at Raccoon University, and how he regaled Sherry Birkin, who was a graduate student there, stories about a football career he would have had had he not joined the Air Force. At one point, there was an entry that told of how Leon Kennedy was the current Police Chief, after former Police Chief Brian Irons was expelled from the force following accusations of corruption, which were later proven when shady negotiations between Umbrella and Irons were presented in court.

Apparently, Umbrella were somehow able to get out of gaining a lawsuit against them, even as Irons was axed.

And speaking of Umbrella, there were brief mentions of Chris' findings concerning them peppered between entries about Claire winning first prize in the University's Annual Horticulture Festival, and Chris helping Leon train new recruits at the department.

Gali's eyes narrowed as she read each entry, looking like she was searching for something. After a while, a dozen pages in, her eyes opened wide.

* * *

><p>…<p>

_**1 October**_

_Much earlier today, I was surprised by a knock on my window. It was about two hours after midnight, when I heard a strange noise and felt for the gun under my mattress. I stood up, training my gun at the single window in the room, when it unexpectedly creaked open as if blown by a sudden gust of wind._

_Imagine my surprise when my close friend and partner, Jill Valentine, entered, with her index finger planted firmly over her lips telling me to hush. I made sure the door to my room was locked before I opened the lights and let her in, giving her a seat on my bed._

_She told me that she had just heard from our allies in New York that I had been stationed here. She's been working undercover in Umbrella as Albert Wesker's right hand since the end of last August, after a mercenary called Deadpool defected to our side, bringing her to New York to be rid of the parasite that Wesker implanted inside her through a device on her chest that allowed him to control her._

_I'm sorry, but as complicated as that sounds, that paragraph was the most rational way I could have worded those events._

_She tells me that she just had to see me when she heard that I was here, telling me that she just had to get away from Umbrella for a while. I wouldn't blame her for wanting to do so. With the kind of man I know Wesker to be, I feel sorry for Jill for having to be in the position she was in. But in a way, I feel proud of her. Only she has the self-control and discipline capable of letting her stand two feet from Wesker without putting a bullet between his eyes._

_She asks me if I remembered—cryptic words from a no-nonsense woman. I didn't understand at first, but like clockwork the gears in my brain started to turn and I realized exactly what she meant._

_There were tears in her eyes. Sentimentality wasn't something I'm used to feeling, but at that moment, I found myself tearing up._

_Remembering what we've both lost, and finding it again in this other world, so much like ours but so different in so many, many ways. Like for instance, Raccoon City was still standing, more than a decade after it should have fell. In our world, it was nuked to stop the infection from spreading, and has since then been nothing more than a smoldering crater of radioactive waste._

_October 1, 1998. It's impossible for me to forget that date, and for Jill moreso. She was there when it happened, barely escaping the city in the nick of time. For her to remember vividly how this place was blown to kingdom come, only to see it right now, standing still, sleeping under the low glow of a full moon… I feel sorry for Jill. I really do._

…

* * *

><p><strong>After that entry, Chris seldom wrote. Most entries afterwards were simple notes, sometimes no more than a dozen words detailing some mundane activity here and there.<strong>

Then during the second week of December, he began writing again more regularly.

Gali yawned. It was an incredibly rude thing to do while reading someone's writing, she had been told before, but she couldn't help but feel tired. She _had _been traveling for a long time, after all. So she flipped through the book, with a look in her eyes that cannot be mistaken for anything other than a need for sleep, trying to look for the most climactic pa—

"Ah."

She finds it two pages from the middle of the journal.

She yawns again as she stares at the remaining pages, and her eyes began to grow heavy. She licked her lips, and lied down on the cool, clean floor.

Come to think of it though, since when did a cosmic being ever yawned? They've grown on her more than she realizes, it seemed.

* * *

><p><em>...<em>

_**12 December**_

_I've been watching Umbrella more closely for the last few days. Just something about this week made me more cautious, though I'm not really certain of what it is exactly. Call it a gut feeling, for lack of better term. This morning, an entourage of black vans came through town and headed straight towards the facility. They were nondescript, and lacked any sort of insignia. Could they be from Latveria? Or some other organization Umbrella is dealing with? Must remember to investigate further._

_Jill came earlier this evening with news that Wesker was planning something, although she couldn't get through to him enough to find out what it was. On the other hand, his computers were all of a sudden more heavily encrypted than usual, and she was still trying to crack the key. She says his meetings with Doom were taking longer than usual as well. Whatever they were planning, it seems that it was something bigger than everything else they've done before._

_God help us if I'm right._

…

_**13 December**_

_Alarms went off in the Umbrella headquarters at noon, getting the entire town's attention. Leon led a squadron of officers to the facility to ask about the situation, but they didn't even get near the first gate before they were stopped by the Umbrella Security Service. If you know that man the way I do, having the damn U.S.S. confront small-time officers just showed how important whatever new plan Wesker has hatched is to him._

_The mayor was indignant that it was nothing, but Leon doubts him. I do, too, of course, even more than he does, and especially more because I know for a fact that the mayor was receiving bribes from Umbrella. If only every damn politician was more like Mike Haggar._

_Dammit. Jill was right. Something even bigger than what I thought is going down._

…

_**15 December**_

_I haven't heard from Jill in a while, which worries me. She hasn't been answering my calls, nor has she tried to communicate from her end for the past three days. Today, my communicator's signal couldn't even reach her. Where is she? Something is definitely up, and I need to find out what it is._

_Umbrella has been going crazy since I last wrote. Those alarms have been going off every few hours, and every attempt by the RPD to inquire about the situation has been denied._

_Tonight, I'm planning on infiltrating the facility. What I've seen and surveyed over the past months are leading me to believe that whatever it is Umbrella is planning, I need to find out what it is exactly and put a stop to it, or at least sabotage it until I can get much needed assistance. Attempts to set up communication with our allies in New York have proved unsuccessful. I guess I'm on my own on this one._

_Frankly, I don't feel good about what I might find. This is Umbrella we're talking about of course, so that isn't unfounded at all, but something about today just screams 'horrifying'. Somehow, I'm not feeling too good about my chances of coming back after I go in, so I'm sending this journal to New York before I go. Once received, and if communication with me is out of reach, I request that the Aven_

…

* * *

><p><strong>The entry ends abruptly there. She turned the pages, but everything after was blank. Gali gently closed the book, placing it back into the bag and resealed the airtight container. She stashed it back into the drawer, stood up, and resumed hovering through the labyrinth-like vault with a curious fervor.<strong>

**"**Has it really been so long ago?" she began to think to herself, while cupping her chin. "Chris Redfield never was able to send that to the Avengers. But what was it that happened afterwards? Why did he stop writing?"

She racked her brain for the answers, but she couldn't find them there. Maybe it really has been too long.

Never mind that. She was looking for _something_, and as unsure as she was about what it was, for some vague reason she believed she would find it there in the archives. Whatever the reason was that she was looking for them, on the other hand, was completely lost to her. After all, she came there on a whim.

"So, you _are_ here," spoke a soothing voice. From out of the vast expanse that served as a ceiling, a hooded figure floating on feathered wings descended in front of her. A pair of bony hands emerged from its sleeves and shook its robe, resulting in a small whirlwind of dust and cobweb clinging to it to fly freely into the open air. "The librarian said you would be here, somewhere."

From the low light emanating from the ceiling, Gali could make out the features of her visitor's visage: a bony jaw, white teeth, empty eye sockets, and a fleshless face. She wasn't what she was expecting.

"Lady Death cometh on wings," remarked Gali, and she curtsied.

"Do you have any idea of why you're here yet?"

_What a curious question to ask so suddenly, _thought Gali.

"Very little," she answered nonetheless. "Almost none, in fact. But I do believe I am getting there."

"I see. Such a shame."

"If I may be the one to ask in turn," continued Gali. "Why did you come here, endless one?"

"'Endless' one?" questioned the other. "You've been reading too many comic books, child."

"I… well," mumbled Gali, blushing, "I-I guess. Perhaps that would explain why I keep picturing you as a teenage girl at the moment, Mistress Death."

"Oh, please," giggled Death. "Teenage girls have _nothing _on me. I mean, do you even _see_ my curves? This a figure to die for, pun unintended."

"Ah, well… yes," agreed Gali, awkwardly. She had absolutely no idea what brought _that _conversation piece about. "You have very lovely… uh, bosoms, Mistress."

And they certainly were, although just to state the glaringly obvious, whatever the reason is a cosmic being with unfathomable power and a skull for a face has to justify having shapely hips, a small waist, and huge... tracts of land certain to leave most women jealous and most men staring shall be completely lost to the passage of time, until the universe eventually resets itself.

"You know it. And please," she continued, "call me, 'Auntie'. We're practically family, Gadorable."

"Ga… Gadorable?" asked Gali.

"Yes, yes, Gadorable," she answered. "I used to call you that when you were such a tiny thing. You had the most adorable little hands and feet, and those eyes just sparkled under the twilight sky. Your father never told you?"

"Father and I, we seldom talk, honestly," Gali admitted. "Anyway, what brought you here… 'Auntie'?"

"I remember how much you kept saying you wanted a pony," continued Death, reminiscing. "And everyone kept wondering what a pony was, since, you know, they're a Terran thing. Everyone wanted to give you space dolphins instead. 'Space dolphins are fun and so much better than ponies,' they kept telling you, but you kept on mumbling, 'I want ponies!' over and over. Ah, those were good times."

"Right," muttered Gali, incredulous. "Again, what brought you here, 'Auntie'?"

Death adjusted her cloak. "Well, I was just in the neighborhood, is all. I only came to this place to read and rest after work. Didn't even know you were here until the librarian told me, Gadorable. Any _particular _reason you're studying on the Omega Point? I mean, you were already practically in the middle of it all, so I don't see why—"

"N-No, not really studying. Just… remembering, I suppose."

Together, they began to traverse the physically never-ending halls and roundabout walkways of that strange place. She has never really met Death before, as far back as she can remember, though if you think about it, you only ever get to meet her _once, _and then you were done with meeting anyone ever again.

"Remembering what, child?" asked Death.

"'Child'?" groaned Galacta. "Mistre—er, 'Auntie' Death, by all means, I am no more a child than you—"

"Hush, dear," whispered Death, and she placed one, bony finger on Gali's lips. "You are the youngest of all of us. You are least experienced and knowledgeable about the universe around you. As such, I see no reason why we shouldn't call you a child, Gadorable."

_I am starting to despise that name, and I have only just learned of it._

"And yet this 'child' was she who was chosen by the fates to be the one who ultimately guided those heroes to their destiny," argued Galacta, snidely.

"Yes, you were," agreed Death. "Though you didn't actually do much guiding..._"_

"What was that, Auntie?"

"Nothing," spoke Death quickly. "What I was saying was that that was only because you were as you still are: a child."

"I beg your pardon?"

And Death continued her spiel. "You are the youngest of all of us, and so that makes you inexperienced and less knowledgeable than the rest of us, not to mention less powerful. In addition, you are impulsive, brash, and arrogant. You believe yourself superior to others."

"I-I… that is unfair. I came here not to be looked down upon and lectu—"

"And it is that which makes you the best of us."

"I beg your pardon, Auntie?" insisted Gali once more. This was unexpected. And confusingly roundabout.

"You are young, and as such, you still possess your ideals. You can still feel wonder and excitement about the universe around you; you are still able to be curious about its continuing existence and its persistence on evolving and changing as eons past," explicated Death.

The hallway they were traversing seemed to grow wider and its ceiling higher the farther they traveled forward.

"You are not yet jaded like us, uncaring of the universe and the even wider reality at large. Uncaring of its value, its true worth—negligent of its unparalleled beauty, the splendor of its creatures, their morality and their emotions, the improbability of their actions, and their inability to cease fighting against the inevitable."

Death looked into Gali's eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of a future she did not once dare think would come. And against all odds, it came wreathed in flames. In Galacta's eyes, Death once saw that future, and that future was now their present reality.

"Some of us—_most _of us don't understand that anymore. Almost all of us have stopped caring. Almost all of us only now exist because it is expected of us, not because it is something we desire. We are all actors in the play that represents reality. Some are only bit parts—the extras in background that make the illusion seem real, that the reality all are witnessing is truly there. Extras add a sense of authenticity, you see?"

"Yes, I suppose," agreed Gali, though she wasn't sure what Death was talking about.

"Some play larger roles—like you and I, who walk and talk on the foreground, pushing and propelling that story forward. Even fewer are the major roles—like _them, _the heroes and villains, who the story revolves around, who are the ones we push hard and firm enough into their roles because without them the play, reality, will cease to be."

The hallway was twice as wide now, and the walls were lined with large glass windows that peered into the depths and recesses of that place—that place in the far edge of the universe.

"They are the most important part of the play—so important that sometimes they are bigger than the play itself. Can you imagine that?" asked Death, but she then shook her head. "Why am I even asking? You don't need to imagine it, you were there after all."

Gali bit her lip.

"Auntie," she called her.

"Yes, Gadorable?"

_That name again. It almost ruins the gravity of what she spoke._

"Why is it that you—the Celestials, the Eternals, the Cosmics… everyone—why is that you all have ceased living and just…?"

"Exist?"

"Yes."

"Well, isn't that a grown-up question, my widdle Galidorable?" spoke Death, pinching Gali's chubby cheeks with her bony fingers.

_What sort of—? I may be a child, but I am certainly no infant! This is simply wrong on several levels._

"When you've existed as long as we have," began Death suddenly, "you lose interest. Suddenly, everything isn't as magical and wonderful as it had once been. Suddenly, everything ceases to be significant. Which is why even if reality had ended during the Omega Point, none of them would have cared. When you've been existing as long as they have, all of existence ceasing to be might just be a welcome change."

Gali considered this. It was exactly as she had thought, all those years ago. "But… you, Auntie."

"What about me?"

"Why are you different from them then?"

"I am not different, I simply—" she began, but hesitated.

At the end of the hallway was a large, open room with shelves as high as the eye can see. They were filled to the brim with what seemed to be old VHS tapes, each and every one of them dusty and lined with cobwebs. At the very center of the room, an old VHS player was hooked onto a rather large, flat screen plasma television set placed on a small desk, flanked by a stereo system on both sides.

"This is quite an anachronistic setup, do you not think so?" asked Gali.

"Don't look at me," said Death. "This is _your_ subconscious at work here, after all."

"Pray tell, why did you lead me here?"

Suddenly, there was a slight noise coming from above them. The sound of wheels squeaked irritatingly as a tall ladder attached to the shelves started moving nearer towards them. From the ladder came down a tall man with snow white hair and blue eyes. He was wearing a purple Victorian outfit lined with bright red accents while a white cravat hung from his collar. A large, red jewel hung around his neck, and a rather inappropriate monocle was worn on his left eye.

As he approached them, Gali curtsied.

"Well met, Dark Knight Sparda," she remarked. "I did not realize that you were also in the archives, good sir."

"It's nice meeting you as well, princess," he spoke majestically, although the effect was rather jarring considering the deep, baritone voice he possessed. It sounded vaguely like the low rumble of thunder before lightning strikes. Turning to her companion, he greeted once more, "You as well, Mistress Death."

"Fancy meeting you here, Dark Knight," greeted Death back. "You looking for something?"

"I was just returning the surveillance footage I borrowed to their shelves," he explained. "I will be leaving now. It was nice meeting you both."

As he moved to step out of the room, Gali stopped him.

"Dark Knight," she called out.

Sparda paused for a moment, before turning towards them. His steely blue gaze seemed to stare straight through her, and for a while, Gali felt the aura pressure in that room increase in a way she had never felt before. "Galacta?"

Gali hesitated, but she pushed through nonetheless. "W-What was… the reason that you came here?"

"Reason?" he repeated, and for a while, he seemed thoughtful. The aura pressure in the room dropped significantly. "Ah, well, nothing in particular. I came here on a whim, I would think. Something drew me here."

Gali smirked. "I see," she spoke aloud. "If I may ask, what did you find here?"

Sparda smiled. Probably in way he hasn't for a long time.

"Memories."

He turned around and continued to walk out, disappearing completely out of sight.

Death turned to face Gali, and remarked, "I know that look. Your father has that same look when he… well, when he's hungry, but also when he's thinking deeply about something, and yours look like… do you have an idea of why you're here yet?"

"Very little," she admitted. And her eyes glowed suddenly with an eerily purple hue. "Almost none, in fact. But I am getting there."

A purple aura began to engulf the tapes, showering the room in light. Each and every one of them shifted and shuffled in their places, and one by one the light emanating from each started dying out until only a few remained lit. And slowly, the light from them died as well until only one was left glowing.

The remaining tape flew from its shelf, and hovered down slowly into Gali's open hands.

"I have decided to watch this one first," she told Death, holding the tape towards her.

Death took the tape and turned on its side. "Earth TRN-177… this is from Earth Prime."

"Nobody actually calls it that," spoke Gali. "It seems that it is you, Auntie, who has been reading too many comic books."

Death shook her head. "How painful was it for you to make that joke?"

"W-What?" Gali blurted out. "I-I was only copying you. W-Was it… really that horrible?"

"Yes."

"You are too blunt, Auntie."

AM I?

"What? What is it with that voice all of a sudden?" Gali asked, incredulously. She was only just realizing how... special Death was.

OH, I'M JUST TESTING NEW VOICES I'M GOING TO USE WHEN I GO BACK TO WORK, she explained. I'M BEEN USING THIS ONE FOR A WHILE. GOT THE IDEA FROM A BOOK. DO YOU LIKE IT?

Gali was livid. "Well, it has character and... uh, force, I would believe. It… sounds like lead slabs falling on a marble floor."

I THINK I'LL BE TALKING LIKE THIS FROM NOW ON.

"What? No," disagreed Gali. "In your work maybe, but I refuse to speak with someone with the body of a model and the voice of a demon lord. It is too… creepy."

MODEL, REALLY? SHOULDN'T I LOOK ANOREXIC INSTEAD OF—

"I was not referring specifically to runway fashion models," explained Gali. "Also, this conversation is going off-course. _We _are off-course."

OH DEAR, she exclaimed. "You're right. Anyway, who is this tape about?"

"Read the label, Auntie," spoke Gali. "I should think it was put there for a good reason."

"'Subjects: Anthony Edwark Stark, Phoenix Wright'… wait, _the _Phoenix Wright?" asked Death. "Also, you're definitely much better with the grating sarcasm than the regular jokes. Stick with that. They tend to be funny in an insultingly endearing way."

"Yes," spoke Gali. "It is _the _Phoenix Wright. Also, I have been trying to lessen my sarcasm. My remarks tend not to be endearing."

"Perhaps you shouldn't lessen your sarcasm, rather you should change the form of sarcasm you are using. There are lots of different forms of sarcasm, and some tend to be taken more seriously than others, hence the lack of endearment," suggested Death. "Also, do you mean _the _Phoenix Wright? _The _Phoenix Wright who was eventually the one who—"

"Yes, yes, him," answered Gali, annoyed. "Also, I will take your suggestion into account. Thank you. On a side note, I cannot fathom how we were able to hold two conversations simultaneously."

Gali shook her head. She can't believe she even cared to point that out.

"Can we now please continue?"

The tape hovered from Death's hands with a bright, purple glow and delivered itself to the VHS player in the middle of the room. As soon as the tape pushed inside, the play button pressed itself, and the television turned itself on.

* * *

><p><strong>Side Chapter Two: Stepford Smiles<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Phoenix looked at his watch as the sun began to set outside. He took the bottle of grape juice on the bedside table and poured the contents into the clear-cut Collins glass he held. He swirled it around, as he stared melancholically at it.<strong>

"Could you hand me that bottle, Mr. Wright?"

Phoenix balanced the bottle in his hand and tossed it towards Tony, who had been leaning on the window. Stark caught the bottle as it swiveled in mid-air and poured grape juice into his own glass. He took a small sip, and finding it to his liking, downed the whole glass.

"I can see why you like this," remarked Stark, checking the label on the bottle. "It's actually pretty good. I thought it was just going to taste like regular fruit juice, but it's actually pretty good. Must be why they sell it in classy-looking bottles instead of juice cartons."

"They actually do sell them in juice cartons," said Phoenix, as he stared intently into a half-empty glass. "I just buy them in bottles. I like the look."

Tony set his glass and the bottle on the window.

"So, I can tell something's bothering you. What is it?"

"It's… it's my daughter," said Phoenix.

"Ah, Trucy," spoke Stark. "I was just about to ask about her. So does this mean you're—"

"No, no," admitted Phoenix, letting out a small laugh. "No, I'm not. Hopefully, just not _yet."_

"Heh," Stark blurted out. "And I was thinking that you and Maya—"

"Maya?"

"Nothing, just... thinking out loud," Stark stopped himself. He began to pace the floor. "She's adopted?"

"Yeah."

"What brought on _that_ decision?"

"Long story."

"I see," remarked Stark. "So what is it about her?"

Phoenix swirled the glass of grape juice in his hand one more time, before taking a small sip. He let out a satisfied breath of air as the sweet sensation of the grape juice went down his throat.

"She's a nice kid, Trucy. A great kid," began Phoenix. "God knows I couldn't have gone through the last few years of my life without her, and I'm grateful for her because of it. But I worry about her, you know?"

"How come?"

"She… hasn't had best life a little girl like her can have."

Tony smirked. "I don't think it's appropriate to keep calling her a _little_ girl, 'Daddy'. She's, what, fifteen?"

"Sixteen. And yeah, I guess not," agreed Phoenix, smiling. "It's just that she's still daddy's little angel to me, no matter what happens. She's still my little Trucy. And my little Trucy has been through a lot."

Phoenix stared at the glass of grape juice in his hand as he tried to string his words together.

"She's been through a hell of a lot more than what girls her age have," he told Stark. "And after all she's been through, I know that deep inside she's frustrated, and sad, and… but whenever I look at her, I see her smiling. Doing her best to put up a cheerful smile for her daddy when she knows I can tell it's all just a facade. As if she doesn't know that I've seen a hundred smiles like that before."

He tried to set the glass down, but he found himself holding it tighter.

"She once told an... apprentice of mine that her daddy—her real daddy—was so good at disappearing—he's a magician, you see, like she is—that he made himself disappear completely," continued Phoenix. "It was during this one case before I..." he looked at Stark knowingly, "you know, a-and the way she said it... it's terrible. For her to be able to make a joke like that when she's tearing up inside, it''s just wrong."

He took another sip of grape juice.

"So I brought her here."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I wanted her to meet you guys," explained Phoenix. "I wanted her to know the people I've come to respect and appreciate. People like her who've had the weight of literally _everything _thrust upon their shoulders and never faltered. I wanted her to know that no matter what comes her way, there'll be heroes like you guys that'll be there for her, and that she'll never be alone."

Phoenix turned towards the windows and watched as the sun sank deep into the skyscraper-filled New York horizon. The night was coming to settle in, little by little.

"You're as modest as ever, aren't you, Mr. Wright?" remarked Tony.

"Huh?"

"Tch. You're a bigger hero than we ever were," he told him. "Besides, I think it's already a fact that your daughter will never be alone. She's got you after all. I should think that she'd rather depend on her daddy than guys like us who she just met, don't you?"

"I guess you're right."

"I may not know much about being a father," admitted Stark, "so I don't know how much weight my words would have if I spoke like one. But as a person—and as a friend—I can say without a doubt that your daughter is a strong young woman. Don't fret if she doesn't smile as truthfully as the other kids. That's just her way of telling her daddy that she can take it—whatever the world throws at her, she can charge head on at full throttle and take it. That you don't need to worry about her."

Phoenix fell silent.

"But that doesn't mean you should stop worrying," continued Stark. "More than ever, it means that you should be with her every step of the way. So that once it's all too much and she can't take it anymore—since everyone and everything has a breaking point—she'll know that she can cry it all out as much as she wants. Because her daddy is there, and as long as her daddy is there, she doesn't have to worry about crying too much."

Stark shrugged, and chuckled to himself.

"If you want, you can just ignore what I said," said Stark. "I don't know if what I said even made sense."

Phoenix smiled. "Thanks, Mr. Stark," he told him, and he proceeded to walk out of the room. "I better find Trucy, and Mr. Parker, too. Night time is the best time for stories after all. Kitchen is three floors downstairs, then three doors straight ahead, right?"

"As always," responded Stark, and Phoenix went out the door.

Stark walked towards the window sill and grabbed the bottle of grape juice. He poured the last of its contents into his glass, and then raised it towards the night sky.

"Cheers to you, Mr. Wright," he spoke solemnly. "The best of all of us. He who knows that there are no happy endings—at least, not without sacrifice—yet continues to fight regardless. Who knows sacrifice best, and though they may not always be worth it, is able to make the hard decisions and make them count. Who this story revolves around, no matter what has been said. Cheers."

And he downed the last glass.

* * *

><p><strong>Death's mouth was agape. She was awestruck.<strong>

"When did this happen?" asked Death, as the video finished playing. "There is no mistaking it. That was _the _Phoenix Wright."

"As if there was ever any doubt that that was him."

Death ejected the tape from the player, and Gali took the tape from Death's hands.

"The date written here is… interesting... it is tomorrow," spoke Gali. "The day after I left Earth."

"Actually, that would technically mean that this was taken several unvigintillion lifetimes ago," said Death, and she smiled. Somehow. Not really sure how she did it, lacking the necessary parts, but she did. "Not that it matters. Time is relative. When you go home, you can just dive through all those warp holes tearing through the very fabric of time and space in order to reach your original endpoint, making it seem that you've never even left. Convenient, ain't it?"

Galacta winced. "Why do you feel the need to point the obvious out like that? It seems so pointless as I already know of everything you are speaking of. It is like lecturing towards an empty classroom. There is no one else here who would hear you that would necessitate you explaining simple theoretical quantum physics to."

"Nervous habit," explained Death. "Don't get so fussy about it, Gadorable."

Gali hovered towards where the tape had been and put it back into place. As she hovered back down, she looked around her, noting the massive archive of footage the vault had accumulated, all of which concerned that critical event in the history of everything referred to as _the Omega Point._

"By the way, how on Earth did you…" she began to ask, but stopped herself. "Wait, do not tell me that—"

"Watchers. Obviously," Death proceeded to point out. "They see and recorded everything."

"Obviously," repeated Gali.

She began to walk out of the room, and Death followed her.

"Found what you're looking for, Gadorable?" she asked.

Gali was thoughtful. She came here on a whim, to this place which she had only been to exactly once before. To this place where she had once learned the dark secrets of eternity and learned how to unlock them, in order to save reality from reaching deep into its bowels and pulling its own insides out. To this place that she had only once known through a dream, that she only had come once before for it was necessary—she now comes here for no reason she could readily discern for herself.

Why?

"Do you have any idea why you're here yet?" asked Death, as she followed her niece.

"Very little," spoke Gali, as they passed through the window-filled hallway that led back to the beginning of the vault. With her own eyes, she could see that a baby star was about to be born into a new universe, just outside those large windows that seemed to peek into eternity. And just as suddenly as it had appeared, just as suddenly it was out of sight. "Almost none, in fact. But I am getting there."

* * *

><p><strong>End of Interlude: OUT OF SIGHT<strong>


	15. Lost in Nightmares, Part One: Nightfall

**Turnabout Crossover**

* * *

><p><strong>ACT THREE: LOSING SIGHT<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Trapped.<strong>

There are experiences in the world that are better left never to be felt. To be trapped is one of them. Just try and imagine yourself unable to move in some small, enclosed space from which you are incapable of escaping, while some unimaginable, otherworldly horror is on the verge of devouring you where you lie.

Just try to imagine yourself looking at that horror with your own eyes, as it tears off your face.

"We need to keep movin'."

On the sixteenth of December, at exactly 3:25 p.m., tragedy struck New York City.

"But… those things outside. What if they…?"

Some several dozen people, despite the efforts of one Tony Stark, a.k.a. the Invincible Iron Man, in successfully stopping the missile that carried the bioweapon, somehow were still succumbed to the more potent form of the mutagenic T-virus, called the C-Arachne virus, passing the infection to a hundred people in the immediate vicinity.

Mostly by sinking their teeth and nails into them.

"They'll get to us eventually while we're in here, and I'd rather we don't wait for that to happen."

And the virus spread, at first infecting a little more than a hundred, then hundreds more, until thousands of corpses started walking around New York City in little more than an hour, consuming every living thing in sight.

And Phoenix Wright was trapped in the middle of it all.

"Either we stay here and die for sure, or we get outta there a fight our way to the Tower."

The outbreak was only the first phase of their grand plan. The nightmare had only just begun.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14: Lost in Nightmares, Part One: Nightfall<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Raccoon City—December 15, Sunday<strong>_

_**11:25 p.m. Eastern Time, exactly sixteen hours before the New York City Outbreak**_

**Ever wondered how it would feel like to have a gun pointed at you? Staring down the barrel of it, while the hand holding it was only a few seconds away from pulling the trigger, and your entire life flashes before your eyes in the very scant nanoseconds you have remaining before your imminent death.**

And just when you begin to argue with yourself whether it was possible for one to experience the entirety of his life in a flash before his impending death, the bastard holding the gun begins taunting you. He begins to list down all the reasons why you have just wasted your life, why everything you've worked for is all for naught, and how nothing you'll do can stop the inevitable from happening.

Whatever the hell the "inevitable" is. Because he surely wasn't referring to your death. He was referring to something else. Something big.

He begins to explain why you should just keel over and die, why you should just accept your fate, and let him inject several grams of lead directly into your skull.

_Apparently, the bastard likes to talk,_ you think to yourself.

Then the trigger gets pulled. You can clearly see the hammer retracting and smashing against the backend of the gun. As if everything was happening in slow motion. You clearly see a flash of light as the bullet jacket is ejected from the pistol. And you just know that the bullet is barreling out of that gun any millisecond now to splash the contents of your skull against the wall, the curtains, and your desk by the window.

And at that last possible moment you _dodge. _Somehow, you dodge out of the way.

Then you kick that son of a bitch in the face.

The gun gets knocked towards the side. You try to reach for it, but the moment it was right in your grasp, he pulls you by the arm and knees you in the stomach.

You quickly clench your gut. Your knees buckle, and suddenly standing up straight became the hardest thing in the world to do. You fall to your knees, and the floorboards shake and creak underneath you. For some reason, he's monstrously strong.

From the corner of your eye, you watch his movements—and he moves _fast._ The moment the pain of having your abdomen grinded reaches your brain, he was already poised to strike once more. His elbow hovered right above you—just right above the back of your neck—and time seemed to slow down enough for you to notice that in the few seconds that it happened. Slow enough for you to realize in those few, precious seconds that a blow like the one your gut just suffered has already sent you spiraling in a world of pain, and that if the same force were to hit such a vulnerable spot, say, the upper end of your spine that connects to your brain, located in the back of your neck, death would sur—

…

—_something cracks._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Stark Industries Main Office<strong>_

_**Midtown Manhattan, New York City—December 15, Sunday**_

_**9:15 p.m. Eastern Time, exactly eighteen hours and ten minutes before the New York City Outbreak**_

**Ammy sat quietly as she split apart her chopsticks. In front of her lied a **_**bento **_**Jean made her for lunch that day, though the hectic schedule she had prevented her from enjoying it when noon came and suddenly a whole mess of work laid bare before her. Between interrogating the woman in white, Emma Frost, to meeting with the S.H.I.E.L.D. Director Nick Fury, to briefing X and Zero on their hunt for the demonspawn Vergil, to checking up on Arthur and his adventures in Europe, it was a very busy day for her.**

Granted, in the first two activities, Cap did most—no, all—of the talking, and in the latter two, Issun did. All she ever did was to be there when they had to make decisions, as they always deferred to her judgment on such matters. And she was always happy when they did, because she knew that they appreciated her being there for them, and their appreciation was always enough for her.

And it wasn't just because they wanted her to feel appreciated, of course. Despite what she looked like in the human form she chose to wear to limit the aura pressure she exerted lest she broke the world, Ammy was the oldest and wisest of all of them. They all knew that, and though Ammy's divine humility kept her from thinking of it that way, they all knew that by deferring to her judgment during the most dire of circumstances, they would always—_always—_come out unscathed.

She opened the _bento, _and the smell of pork cutlets, some scrambled eggs, and white rice sent her into ecstasy. Jean would make an amazing wife, she thought to herself, and if she could talk she would definitely tell her out loud.

"That means a lot coming from you," Jean told her, as she sat across the table from her, book in hand.

It was amazing, the kind of people she's met since this whole ordeal began. To think that one day she could have meaningful conversations with someone even without uttering a single word. She couldn't help but realize how full of wonderful people the universe was.

"It is, isn't it?" Jean asked her. Ammy nodded, and opened her mouth wide. Her sharp fangs bit down on a piece of _tonkatsu, _slicing it in half. For such a small girl, she had a huge appetite, wolfing down her meal like that. "But it's full of bad people, too."

Ammy looked at her.

"I know you don't," replied Jean, "but sometimes one can't help thinking about it, too."

Ammy blinked as she stared at her.

"It's not a concrete solution though," disagreed Jean. "We need something long-term."

Ammy crossed her arms.

"I guess you're right," conceded Jean. "I've never thought of it that way."

As Ammy got ready to celebrate winning that argument by trying Jean's scrambled eggs next, a large figure stepped into the light of that dimly-lit library. Cap greeted them both a good evening, before asking Jean if she wouldn't mind leaving the room.

"We need to discuss it in private," he explained to her. "I hope I'm not being rude or—"

"No, no," reassured Jean, "it's quite alright. I'll just read in the lobby."

Ammy waved at her as she headed towards the door.

"You're quite welcome," Jean replied, and taking her book, she disappeared into the hallway.

Cap shuffled the paperwork he had with him, as Ammy was nearly finished with her meal. It was Emma's test results, he explained to her, and it was evident in his voice how relieved he was at the results: the Emma Frost they had conversed with earlier was their own. She wasn't a Skrull, or a clone, or a shapeshifter, or an LMD, or some other sort of technologically advanced, intricately-made, ridiculously human-looking robot.

She also wasn't a Martian, something that Steve had a hard time trying to understand. He didn't quite get why Stark wanted to emphasize that—as far as he knew, there were no such things as Martians, and if there were, why would they be shapeshifters?

If it was a reference to something, Steve thought, it was completely lost on him.

Steve leaned back on his chair. "It's been a long day, hasn't it?"

Ammy nodded. She put her chopsticks inside her _bento _box and replaced the lid on top of it, before clapping her hands together and saying her thanks for the meal.

"We can discuss this some other time, if you want," offered Steve. "The matter isn't a pressing one, after all, though there will always be a need to discuss it. We can do that tomorrow, if you'd like."

She shook her head.

"I see," remarked Steve. "Then we better get started then. If Thor was able to reach Earth—_our _Earth—then perhaps there is a way to transcend the barriers after all."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Raccoon City—December 15, Sunday<strong>_

_**11:25 p.m. Eastern Time, exactly sixteen hours before the New York City Outbreak**_

**A gunshot rings out.**

Perhaps it wasn't as surprising as it should have been. The protests against the Umbrella Corporation have been getting more chaotic after all, and as the days pass, it would seem that full-scale riots are the only next logical step that the restless citizens of Raccoon City may take, as the megacorporation continues to ignore their pleas for answers.

Answers to questions such as "What were those sirens about?", "Why would a pharmaceutical company employ mercenaries wielding rifles and machine guns, and decked in black riot gear, camo suits, and gasmasks?", and the ever-present "What's going on in that mansion out in the Arklay Mountains?"

For days these citizens have been demanding answers, and for days the police have done all they can to stop these demonstrations from evolving into full-scale riots, or worse.

And because of these developments, everyone was half-expecting—and some of the stupider ones perhaps even hoping—that one day shots would be fired and diplomacy would have to make way for good, old-fashioned revolution.

It was stupid, not only because it was a fool notion, but because it would create more problems than it would solve.

But before one gets sidetracked with discussions on the merits and downsides of the working class inciting a revolution against the big corporations, one must remember the more important things at stake at that moment.

There was a single gunshot, in the dead of night, long after the rioters have been dispersed after their daily shouting sessions in front of the Umbrella Corporation's main office.

It was always slow business for the Redfield Horticultural Emporium in downtown Raccoon City in winter. Obviously. Plants weren't really big during that time of the year when the ground was covered with snow, and there were still a few days left before the pine trees they were to sell for Christmas are to come.

So in all honesty, the entire shop—consisting of the manager and the young woman who's been living with her and her husband ever since—never had much to do during winter.

Inside, a blue-eyed, blonde-haired young woman wearing a red hairband and a blue apron appeared from under the shop counter, holding a feather duster lightly covered in cobwebs and dirt. She looked around her, bewildered.

"Claire?" she cried out loud, before noticing the red-haired woman near the shelves filled with bag of seeds and pots. She was holding a pair of shears and a single rose filled with thorns, while several roses, snipped and dewormed, were laid neatly on the table in front of her. She was staring at the ceiling, seemingly lying in wait for something. "Claire, did you hear that?"

"Yeah," she spoke, before placing the shears and the rose back on the table. She walked briskly towards the shop door, taking off the gardening gloves she wore as she walked, and then turned the sign on the door backwards, so it'll read CLOSED from the outside. She then locked the door. "It sounded… close."

She looked _up._

"It sounded like it came from—"

The ceiling above them creaked and banged, loudly.

"—upstairs," finished Claire. "Chris?" she whispered to herself. She then turned to the blonde by the counter and told her, "Finish up here, Sherry. Then turn off the lights. Then go to bed. I'll just be upstairs for a while. Check up on Chris."

Sherry, who was certainly old enough to decide on her own when she deemed it appropriate to go to bed, simply nodded, took a broom from one corner of the room and started sweeping, just as Claire began to walk up the staircase.

* * *

><p><strong>He could have killed him. Right then and there, he could have killed him.<strong>

He saw him from the window, writing in some journal. He would have never noticed him as he watched from the roof of the house across from his, and all he had to do was to point his rifle straight towards Redfield's head and his mission would have been over.

But no, he just had to know. He just had to know if he was exactly the kind of man Wesker had warned him that he would be. And he couldn't accept that.

For all his professionalism, even_ he_ was driven by something other than a mission's pay: the thought that no one but Albert Wesker could be his superior. And so, when Wesker warned him of the man named Chris Redfield, praising him the only way Wesker would ever praise anyone—by admitting that he was an _equal, _a _worthy _opponent—well, that changed the entire game.

He just had to know. So he attacked him that way: breaking his window, entering his room, pointing the gun in his face, taunting him with the perceived knowledge of his mortality and how he would be the one to take it.

He wanted Chris Redfield to gaze upon him, see him and witness his own life shot out of him by the man known to a few as 'Mr. Death'.

And when Chris Redfield dodged the bullet that should have ended him at point blank, somehow, deep inside he must have realized that for all his bravado, for all his thinking that he was Albert Wesker's second—he must have realized then and there that he was mistaken.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Raccoon City—December 15, Sunday<strong>_

_**11:27 p.m. Eastern Time, approximately fifteen hours and fifty-eight minutes before the New York City Outbreak**_

**Right hook to left cheek. The man's left eyepiece cracks, and the small shards of glass falling off of it sparkled like stars as they flew off his mask. Backhand to right cheek. What sounded like bone cracks—quietly, softly, but Chris knows that damage had been done. The splintered eyepiece shatters completely from the force of the blow, and larger shards of crimson glass fall towards the floor. They are soon crushed by the boot of someone who staggers slightly. Staggers because of an elbow to the chin.**

The man was silent ever since he failed to kill his target. Not one sound came from him, nothing that anyone could register as the sound of pain could be heard escaping his mouth. Until that point he was quiet, and the first thing to come out of his mouth after a while was:

"Impressive."

A blade slashes against Chris' arm as it moved to protect his throat. It drew blood, and the crimson liquid splashes against the study table by the window. On it lied an open journal, hardbound with wrinkled pages filled with anecdotes and notes, while to its side sat a leaky ballpoint pen, and an empty mug that might have earlier been full of coffee. His blood splatters onto the pages and they become drenched.

Chris holds his arm in pain. The man swings again.

Chris jumps back, but the man follows him and slashes against his abdomen. The blade brushes gently against the cloth of his shirt, ripping it along with the Kevlar underneath.

_That was a close one, _thought Chris, _and if I wasn't wearing the armor, my guts would probably be spilled on the floor right now._

Chris puts his dukes up. The man holds the blade in his hand and wiped the blood against the sleeve of his other arm. He then stared at Chris with a single, crimson eye.

"He spoke of you fondly," spoke the man, as he juggled the now bloodless, razor-sharp instrument in his hand. "He called you a worthy adversary—someone he might even think of as an equal—but at the moment all I see is a man who may or may not be a pushover."

"Who did?" questioned Chris. "And who the hell are you?"

"Albert Wesker did, of course," answered the man. His voice was low and whispery, a result of the gasmask strapped onto his face. "And the name's HUNK. Some know me, appropriately so, as 'Mr. Death'. You should remember it."

"Already forgot," responded Chris.

"Pity," replied HUNK, in a genuinely exasperated tone. He raised the knife steadily, its serrated bladed gleaming under the moonlight. "Then you'll never know what to answer when the Devil asks who sent you."

_Great. Another weirdo hooked on theatrics. Where the hell does Wesker get these clowns?_

The man lunged forward, blade at the ready.

_All right. One chance, and it's all I need._

The man charges, and Chris meets him halfway. HUNK stabs the air as Chris moves to his side, grabbing the arm wielding the blade. He twists the wrist, and the serrated knife falls the floor with a loud, metallic thud. Chris' left leg drills into HUNK's back.

The pain doesn't register.

HUNK spins around, releasing his trapped arm. His left leg hits Chris' side. Chris feels his legs wobble. A straight right devastates his chest. Three ribs crack, and he swears he could feel his lungs bruise. A left strikes the same spot, and a rib gives way completely.

_Can't… can't lose…_

A haymaker hits HUNK squarely between the eyes. It doesn't register. Two jabs expertly land just below Chris' ribs. All of a sudden breathing became a chore again.

An uppercut smashes against his chin as he gasps for breath, and his mouth snaps shut. He almost bites his tongue. He could feel himself floating as both his feet leave the ground, and his line of sight switches from his opponent to the ceiling above him. He lands violently on the floorboards, and they break under his weight.

He rolls to his side, struggling to stand up. That would take a while, and time wasn't on his side. Behind him, a cold, gust of wind howled from the broken window. It was beginning to snow.

HUNK walks over to one corner of the room and picks up his handgun: a Heckler & Koch P8. Standard-issue for ranked members of the Umbrella Secret Service. He cocks it, and an unspent shell gets ejected from the weapon. It rolls towards some dark end of the room and is never seen again.

"Wesker was humoring me," he spoke, as he walked towards the door opposite the window. He then turns around and faced Chris, trying to crawl towards him. "I can see that now. I can see that you aren't really that much of an opponent, Chris Redfield. How you were able to beat Wesker before though, I really can't imagine. Perhaps you're past your prime. Perhaps he was simply humoring _you._ I'd rather think it was the former."

He cocks the gun again, and another bullet is choked out. It follows the first one into the dark recesses of the room.

"Since I really don't like wasting bullets," he continued, and cocked the gun once more, "on worthless targets."

He pointed the gun towards Chris' forehead.

"Last words?" asked HUNK. "I'm not without remorse, you see. I'm a professional, after all. Tell me, and then I'll go downstairs and tell your sister what they are."

Chris' eyes widened.

_Bastard. Y-You son of a…_

"Then," he continued, " before I shoot her and William Birkin's daughter in the head, I'll ask for hers and the girl's last words. Then I'll find her husband—the RPD Chief, and tell _him_ what _they_ were."

_No. Son of a… you're dead… you're as good as…_

Christ struggled to push himself up, but the pain in his ribs begin to cloud his focus.

"I guess I should have told you that sooner," he told Chris the moment he saw him grit his blood-stained teeth and clench his shaking fist. "He wants all five of you dead, and ordered me to kill four of you. You're lucky you'll be the first on my list, since you don't have to hear the two downstairs get their own, personal pretty, little headshots."

"Five?" asked Chris, as the blood from his mouth and the large, open wound on his arm poured to form a small puddle beneath him. He was beginning to feel dizzy from the blood loss.

As he struggled to fight back against lapsing into unconsciousness, he could faintly hear footsteps. He felt the tiny vibrations they made on the wooden floor.

"That's right," answered HUNK, "I get to kill you four. Albert Wesker gets Jill Valentine."

"_J-Jill?"_

"Got your attention there, didn't I?" taunted HUNK, and he knelt down to meet Chris eye to eye. "He wanted to be the one to finish off at least one of you two, and since you're here and she's already there, Wesker chose her. Might have already done her, too. No loose ends, you understand? Of course, you do."

The nozzle of his gun then bumped against Chris' forehead, and he began to squeeze the trigger.

"Take a deep breath, Redfield. Your last, deep—"

He stopped. His gaze then fell towards the door behind him. The footsteps began to slowly grow more audible.

"Dammit," cursed HUNK, as he stood up. "And I even promised I'd kill _you_ first."

The footsteps stopped. HUNK pointed his handgun towards the door.

Chris raised his head and stared at the door. The doorknob turned. The door swung open, and a pretty redhead with big, blue eyes peeked inside the dark, dimly-lit room.

"Chris," she whispered as soon as she stepped a foot inside, "are you there? I thought I heard—"

"_**Claire, no!"**_

Something flashes. A shot rings out.

* * *

><p><strong>Sherry dropped the broom she was wielding the moment she heard it again. A gunshot, very clearly coming from somewhere above her, had her frantically running towards the coffee table in the middle of the shop. She grabs the phone sitting quietly at the center of it and began madly mashing numbers before realizing that there was no tone.<strong>

_Disconnected? _she thought.

Her hand reached into her pocket, before remembering with maddening frustration that her cellphone had been sent away for repairs the previous day. Somehow, fate just wasn't on her side.

The lights flickered suddenly, and the ceiling above her creaked and rocked. Something fell to floor in the room just above her. Something heavy. Something that sounded like a body—_two _bodies falling on the floor.

She only had a moment to wonder what it was, before the locked front door opened slowly, and a hand covered her mouth so she couldn't scream.

* * *

><p><strong>He missed her. No, he would never miss. HUNK kept repeating those words to himself as Claire closed in on him. He should have realized how mistaken he had been since he first dared to assault that household a few minutes earlier.<strong>

She was five feet from him. She was standing still by the door. It was dark in that room, and the only light source was a lamp on the desk by the window, and the moon outside. She had been standing still when he pulled the trigger. She had been calling out to her brother, unmindful of what was inside the room, of what she would find behind the door. She couldn't have possibly been able to see him.

Somehow he missed her completely. No, no… he didn't miss. He told himself that over and over as her legs slammed against his torso and his face, pinning his right arm between them. He would never have missed at that distance.

The gun fell from his hand as she wrapped both her arms around his trapped limb, hitting the floor loudly and sliding away from him. Using her momentum, she swung her legs backwards, pulling him down to the ground. He hits the floor violently, and he could feel something crack in his chest.

With his arm in an arm lock, she leaned back, and his elbow began to fold in a way that it never should. Something cracks. Something snaps, and his arm goes limp. The pain registers, unbearably.

Her leg over his face muffled his pained gasps for air. As he began to lose consciousness, something outside the door catches his eye. A small hole in the concrete wall opposite the door, whose position was at a height that was equal to the distance between the floor and Claire's forehead. And if he hadn't missed, her pretty, little head would have burst open and the contents would have painted that wall in the red and gray of blood and brain matter.

No, he began to correct himself once more, as the blood in his throat began to drown him, as his consciousness started to leave him from lack of oxygen.

No, he didn't miss. The hole in the wall proved it. She was her brother's sister, after all.

He didn't miss. He would never miss. She _dodged._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Raccoon City—December 15, Sunday<strong>_

_**11:30 p.m. Eastern Time, approximately fifteen hours and fifty-five minutes before the New York City Outbreak**_

**Chris almost blacked out. Almost.**

If he had, he wouldn't have been able to see his sister perform a flying takedown on an armed U.S.S. operative, then mercilessly break his arm. She herself broke a sweat.

Claire then leapt up to him and began dragging him towards the bed. She left the room, only to be swiftly returning a few seconds later with a roll of bandages and a small, white box with writing on it that says "First Aid". She took a piece of cotton from the box, sprinkled some green powder on it, and began swabbing and cleaning the large wound on Chris' forearm with it. She then wrapped his arm in bandages repeatedly.

"The herbs should be enough for now," spoke Claire, "at least until we get you to a hospital. The bleeding seems severe, but the wound itself is superficial, though with the amount of blood you've lost it's a miracle you're still awake."

"No," grunted Chris, and he sat up. His chest was beginning to throb, but his mind told him to ignore it. His body, on the other hand, thought otherwise. "No hospital, please, I still need to—_ack!"_

He clenched his chest. He had a broken rib, and had fractured two more. He didn't tell her that. Didn't want to make her worry more than she should.

"Easy, Chris," Claire told him, worriedly. "Calm down. Just lie still and don't move."

Chris ignored the pain once more and stood up. Slowly but steadily, he made his way towards where HUNK lied unconscious, and then began frantically searching the body.

"Radio… radio…" he mumbled repeatedly, as he inspected every pouch and pocket on the U.S.S. agent's person. He produced three magazines for HUNK's gun, an extra knife, and two flash grenades. He then took off HUNK's tactical vest and wore it himself, replacing the items he had taken into its numerous pockets. "He didn't bring a radio."

"Why? What's so important about him not having a radio?"

"Claire," he called out calmly. He was attaching HUNK's holster to his own belt. "Fetch my bag from under the bed."

Claire crouched down, and felt around under the bed by the side of the room until her hand came upon a large, army green gym bag. Worn out and old, it seemed the thing had seen better days. It seemed the thing would have wanted that it be left to remember those better days and just be put out of its misery.

Claire shook her head. Bags don't think like that… do they?

She then pulled the surprisingly heavy container from its dark hiding place and pushed it towards her brother, who began to agitatedly search around in it.

Claire peeked inside it as her brother searched. There were all these devices and gadgets she's never seen before—things she didn't understand how or why her brother had come to possess. Small, black, box-like devices with tiny lights, sporting switches and buttons as many as it could fit. Another looked like a small satellite dish, while some others were white, round and smooth plastic things covered in more switches, buttons and even sockets.

"What the hell are all these for?" asked Claire. She was holding up a pair of headphones with a microphone attachment.

"Those are headphones," answered Chris, "and they're used for listening."

Claire sighed. "I'm not joking around," she told him sternly. "You know what I mean. What are these for and why do you have them?"

Chris stopped rummaging through his bag and turned to look at his sister. "They're… for surveillance."

"What would you need surveillance equipment for?" asked Claire earnestly.

"Spying… on Umbrella," answered Chris, and he resumed his search.

"Umbrella?" repeated Claire, and her eyes fell towards the unconscious body in front of them. "So this guy…?"

"Umbrella Secret Service," replied Chris. "Handgun on person is a Heckler & Koch P8 which uses 9 mm Parabellum rounds, has a capacity of nine bullets, and its modified firing mechanism allows its bullets to be able to pierce through minimal cover. Possession would suggest that he's a high ranking member of the U.S.S., maybe even a squad leader."

"So, what you're saying is that they sent a high-ranking member of their elite ops team to personally assassinate you?"

"As opposed to, what, _impersonally_ assassinating me?" Chris remarked, dryly. His hands then stopped, and he carefully pulled out an old M92F from his bag.

"I'm not kidding around, Chris," snapped Claire.

"Sorry," apologized Chris, as he examined his gun.

It was particularly old handgun—not precisely because of its age but because he had been using it for God knows how long. It was custom modeled after the standard-issue M1911 pistols used by the U.S. military until the early 90s, when it was replaced the Beretta M9. His gun's only difference with the M1911 was that it was modified to hold 9 mm Parabellum rounds—which technically made it a different gun all-together, but that is an entirely different issue—and that it was calibrated to fire quicker than a normal M1911.

Chris held the gun firmly in his hands. It had been sitting in his bag for months, never having been used once in that time, and he only ever took it out to clean it once a week. But even with the constant cleaning and reassembling, it was an old gun—it could jam at the worst possible moment and leave him defenseless and, quite possibly, for dead.

Chris shook his head. There was no room for sentiment. He was going to war, after all.

"Sorry, Claire," he voiced out once more, and his sister tilted her head. "Sorry, Claire, I just… could you… could you pass me that gun over there?"

He pointed towards a dark part of the room where light from the table lamp wouldn't shine on. Claire complied, and she crawled over to that dusty corner in order to retrieve the gun that had been tossed there.

"There are bullets here, too," she declared, picking up two, unspent 9 mm shells.

"Give it here," replied Chris, and Claire handed her the gun.

Chris took out the magazine and checked the number of bullets left, before plugging in the two unused rounds and reloading the pistol. Seven bullets left plus three extra clips made for thirty-four rounds total.

"This'll have to do," spoke Chris, as he stood up. He holstered the H&K P8 into his side holster and holstered his M92F into a holster on his vest.

"'Have to do' for what?" questioned Claire. "Is there something that you should be telling me?"

Chris winced at the statement, and he stared at his sister as she sat on the floor. "Listen, Claire. You're not asking the obvious question, so…"

"I know what the obvious question is," she told him. "It's just that it's either very hard to phrase it right, or maybe it's just really hard to say it out loud. I really have no idea. I've never done this before."

Chris bit his lip. He didn't know how to go about it—she may not be _his _Claire, but she was Claire nonetheless, and the only thing he could think of then was how convenient it was that he didn't have to go through something like this with his Claire back home.

"Well, the truth is that…" he mumbled. There was no way to say it in a way that it wouldn't sound outlandish in the slightest. "What I want to say is that…"

"No, stop," she spoke suddenly.

"Huh?"

"Look," she began, and she took a deep breath, "the day you came back, I… I saw you. I saw you come into town. I was delivering tulips to an old couple who lived near the main road, by the way. And that entire day I was waiting for you to come see me. But you never came."

Chris tried to think of things to say, but he stayed silent. Nothing he would tell her would make sense.

"I figured, 'Our old house isn't there anymore, so he probably just didn't know where to find me'. But it's just a small town. Pretty soon, if you ask a few people around town someone is bound to know me, and someone is bound to tell you to come here. It wouldn't even take a lot of people. If you had asked around that same day, you would have found me before noon. But you never came, so I knew that either the thought of asking around didn't occur to you, or you never wanted to look for me in the first place."

She kept playing with her thumbs as she spoke.

"And then I saw you the next day, staying at that hotel a few blocks from here, and I was thinking about going up and saying 'Hi'. You weren't a stranger, after all. You're my brother, for Pete's sake. But I never got to doing that because when I saw you… you didn't look like you. You looked so different. You didn't look like the Chris I've known since the day I was born."

He feigned coughing after hearing that. He couldn't help himself.

"But a few days later, I bumped into you at the supermarket. It's a small town after all, it's not like we could avoid each other forever. But when I talked to you, you didn't sound like you. And when you came home for dinner, you seemed surprised to see Leon and Sherry. Like you didn't already know I was Claire Redfield-Kennedy. Like you weren't there at the wedding. But I asked you to stay with us anyway because… because I had to know if it was really you."

She took another deep breath, and looked straight into his eyes with her piercing, blue ones.

"And all these months, I can tell that you're _not _Chris. You're not _my _Chris. But in many ways—in many, _many_ ways, you _are. _I don't understand, either. It sounds so stupid. You're not my brother, and yet you are my brother. I don't know how to phrase it any way that could make sense. But then I realized, it didn't matter."

She smiled at him, and he realized just how much he missed that smile. It was _his _Claire's smile.

"Those things that make you my brother—those many, _many _ways? Those are the ones that _count. _Loving and caring, idealistic, always serious but a real softie deep inside, has this powerful sense of justice and righteousness, probably thinks he's some sort of superhero," she went on saying. "You're everything the Chris I know—_my _Chris—is. And that makes you _my _Chris. So I don't care if you aren't him, or why you're here, or why… assassins are after you. You're _my _Chris—I mean, you're Chris."

She stood up slowly, and took his hand in hers.

"Because all I care about is how my brother's with me again. After all these years, Chris Redfield came back to Raccoon City—back to his loving sister and her family, and that from now on, they'll be together."

Chris smiled. He raised his hand, slowly… and flicked her on the forehead.

"Ow!" she yelped.

"Embarassing as hell. You've been watching too many feel-good movies lately, haven't you?" he asked her.

She laughed, as she caressed her forehead. "I've had a lot of free time since fall ended and orders stopped coming." Her gaze then turned towards the window. "And since it's snowing already, it looks like I'll be having more."

"Figures," remarked Chris, as he looked out the broken window to see the snow fall outside. "But thanks."

Claire giggled. "You're very welcome."

"By the way, where the hell did you learn that move you did?"

"What move?"

"That flying arm lock takedown, or whatever it's called."

"Oh, that move," she seemed to remember. "Well, it's a funny story. You see—"

The sound of glass breaking suddenly filled the air, followed by the sound of gunshots ending an enduring silence. And just as suddenly, the sound of a young woman screaming in terror.

Claire's eyes opened wide in realization.

"Sherry," she whispered, as she started to vault towards the door.

"Claire, wait!" called out Chris. Claire turned around, and saw a gun being thrown towards her. She deftly caught the weapon in mid-air and looked at it. It was old, by the looks of it, but it could still do the job. "You know how to use that, right?"

Claire nodded. "Married to an officer, remember?"

"…Should I take that as a yes?"

"I don't know," replied Claire, cocking the M92F. "Should you?"

Together, they walked out the door and into a dimly-lit hallway, quickly making their way towards the staircase. The floorboards creaked beneath them, and it leaves Chris wondering if Claire ever bothered to have the place renovated. Because in hindsight, trying to be stealthy is near-impossible when the floor itself is giving away your position.

"Ever thought about getting this place fixed?" asked Chris, with his gun at the ready.

"What do you mean?" replied Claire, with her gun the same way.

"To start with: tiled, concrete floors."

"The thought _has _crossed my mind," spoke Claire. "But that would mean demolishing this place and starting from scratch."

"Not an option?"

"No. This is an old house. I think it's been here since the city's founding," said Claire. She was thoughtful for a moment. "Never really checked with city records before though, so I could be wrong."

As they neared the staircase, Chris stopped.

"And besides, after having that greenhouse built next door a few years back, we've been kinda strapped on cash. What with Sherry going to college, you see."

He leaned over to the side and tried to sneak a look. The stairs lead directly into a living room that was devoid of light except for the small strip of it coming from the door that led to the shop proper. Something steps into the light.

"But since she's graduating this coming year, I guess we can save up to make a few changes. It's still going to take a lot of money though."

Something moves. In the darkness something lurks, and his eyes strain themselves in trying desperately to track it. Is it human? He wishes to God that it was. He's had his fair share of abominations, monsters, and things that feel at home in the dead of night, enough to last him a lifetime. He's seen things that would make the sanest man alive retreat into lunacy.

"You're not listening, are you?"

Chris chances a step forward. It moves again. And it _fires._

"Look out!" he shouts.

He takes a step back as automatic fire ravages the wall directly opposite the staircase. Claire barely makes out an annoyed spiel about how her scrapbooking room has been decimated before they begin shooting at them again.

"They're shooting at us," Chris mumbles to himself. "Thank God."

Claire is crouched down beside him, wondering if her brother has lost it. She doesn't realize—and for her sake, hopefully she never does—that when you're up against a nightmare factory like Umbrella, mercenaries with machine guns are appreciated compared to the other things they can send out against you.

Slimy, mutilated things with sharp claws and sharper teeth attached to mouths that grin Cheshire smiles, stitched to faces with eyes more numerous than there should be, and are in places where they don't belong.

"So, what's the plan, hero?" asked Claire. She was crouching down just beside Chris, and in her mind, she believed herself to be ready, holding her gun as she would a gardening trowel: steady and with a firm grip, as her keen eyes deftly spotted 'weeds' as they appeared in her living room, while her hands, aiming with deadly accuracy, uprooted them mercilessly with utmost finesse.

In her mind, gardening as a metaphor for shooting people sounded so much better on paper. Unfortunately, it sucked in practice.

Chris was thoughtful for a moment. "Right," he exclaimed, "what we do is—"

All of a sudden, gunshots fired once more, but in no way towards them. What sounded like bodies fall to the floor, and the lights downstairs suddenly turned back on.

As Chris and Claire made their way down into the living room, three U.S.S. agents lied in a crumpled, bloody heap on the floor.

And by the door that led towards the shop proper, stood a—

"Is that…" wondered Claire aloud, "…a raccoon with a machine gun?"

Rocket was leaning on the doorframe, holding a Bear Commander assault rifle in one hand.

"When that wanker Stark said your hometown was a place called 'Raccoon City', I thought it'd be a paradise for blokes like me," he told them, as he held open the door for them as they stepped into the shop proper. Four more bodies lied near shards of broken glass that came from the shop windows. "But ever since I got here, I haven't seen a single raccoon. I ought to keep reminding myself that Tony Stark is full of rubbish from now on, eh, Redfield?"

"Rocket," whispered Chris, "you did all this?"

"And more," replied Rocket, as he pointed towards the shop counter. From underneath it emerged a crying young lady with short, blonde hair.

"Claire!" cried Sherry as she ran towards Claire. She embraced her tightly as they came within arm's reach of each other. "I was so scared."

"There, there," reassured Claire, like a mother would her daughter.

"They were gonna slit her throat when I came knocking," explained Rocket, "so I blasted the bloody bastard holding her, and the three blokes with 'im. Sorry about the windows though, mate."

Claire shook her head. "No, it's…" she began, and she held Sherry tighter, "thank you. Just thank you, so much."

"Think nothing of it," said Rocket, dismissively. "Just glad that—"

Upstairs, the sound of glass breaking catches their attention.

"Well, that wasn't me," remarked Rocket.

"That's the third time I've heard a window break in this house tonight," spoke Claire, dryly. Then turning to Chris, she spoke, "Coupled with the broken door, the broken floorboards, and bullet-ridden walls, I may have to rethink about renovations after all."

* * *

><p><strong>"You're going after him, right?" asked Claire, as Chris began to climb out of the window.<strong>

"Of course," he told her, as the fire escape creaked under his weight.

"At least take a coat," spoke Sherry, as she appeared from the staircase leading downstairs carrying a large, green winter coat. "If you haven't noticed yet, it's deathly cold outside."

"It's okay," assured Chris, and he began to climb up the ladder to the roof. Claire ran towards the hallway window and stuck her head out, watching as her brother climbed up the frozen metal steps of the creaky ladder that has never been used until then. "We need to go now or we might lose him," continued Chris, "and besides, the cold never bothered me anyway."

As he reached the roof, he found Rocket smiling cheekily at him.

"You've always wanted to say that, haven't you?" smirked Rocket. He was examining the tracks left by the man in the gasmask. "You've probably been waiting for this exact moment, haven't you, mate?"

"Shut up," blurted Chris. He knelt down on one knee and examined the tracks himself.

"'The cold never bothered me anyway'," repeated Rocket. "Christ, now the damn song's in my head again. Thanks a lot, Redfield."

"It's a catchy song shooting monsters and mercenaries to, what can I say?" joked Chris.

"I'll keep that in mind the next time I come across some intergalactic drug smugglers and have to tell the blokes with the bazookas to 'let it go'."

Rocket sniffed the tracks.

"He's heading for the main Umbrella Headquarters, that much is obvious," said Chris.

"Except that isn't where Wesker is," disagreed Rocket.

He pulled out what looked like a smartphone from his backpack and scanned the footprints imprinted on the snow-covered roof of the Kennedy household. The device glowed with a blue light as it did its job, and completed the analysis.

"Dirt, some foliage, dust from old wood, a little marble, some iron rust—not exactly things you'd find in a sterilized environment like the laboratories of the Umbrella Main Office," explained Rocket.

"Marble, you say?" asked Chris. "Like from old statues?"

"Yeah, probably," replied Rocket. "What, you got an idea?"

Chris stood up as he looked towards the Arklay Mountains, towering over the small, sleepy city. He shook his head.

"Somethin' wrong, Redfield?"

"Nothing," spoke Chris. "I just didn't think I'd ever have to go back there again."

"Where?" asked Rocket. "Try making a little more sense."

Chris shook his head, and smiled bitterly.

"Spencer Mansion," came the reply. "Where the nightmare first began."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Stark Industries Main Office<strong>_

_**Midtown Manhattan, New York City—December 15, Sunday**_

_**9:25 p.m. Eastern Time, exactly eighteen hours before the New York City Outbreak**_

"**Glad we had time to discuss this," spoke Cap, as he reshuffled the paperwork he had brought, along with the report he and Ammy wrote regarding Emma Frost and her story. "Tony and I will talk about it first thing in the morning."**

Ammy yawned. The day was finally over.

"Get some rest," Steve advised her, and patted her on the head. "Something tells me that tomorrow will be another long day for us both."

Ammy stared at her with her wide, red puppy dog eyes.

"Don't be like that," spoke Steve. "At least _you'll_ be getting some shut-eye. After this, I still need to pull an all-nighter and finish reading Jill Valentine's report."

Ammy sighed. She knew how important all this was, but sometimes it was getting tiring. At least now she'd be able to sleep. Come to think of it, Issun has been asleep inside her ear the whole time.

She contemplated waking him, but she didn't go through with it. She was just_ so_ sleepy.

Hopefully, even if tomorrow _is _going to be another busy day, hopefully it won't be as hard as today had been. Chun-Li's in the ward after her own busy day, Peter's in _intensive care, _even, Tron is missing, and Felicia and Hsien-Ko have been away for days.

Hopefully, everything will be better by tomorrow.

She looks up and sees Cap about to leave the library, when someone barges in. It was a woman with red hair and glasses—Pepper Potts, Ammy thinks was her name. She was panting heavily, apparently after running around a lot.

Well, she looked like she's been running around a lot.

She tells Cap something… urgent probably—Cap looks shocked. He turns his head towards Ammy, and for a moment, she think she sees him with tears in his eyes, all of a sudden. It was absurd, Ammy admitted to herself. Surely, Captain America doesn't cry.

He quickly leaves with Miss Potts, and Ammy is left alone in the library. She tries to wonder what that was all about, but she was too sleepy to even wonder.

Hopefully, everything will be better tomorrow. She looks at the snow falling outside and remembers something.

She promised Chun-Li she'd watch the snow fall with them. With everyone.

_We'll do it tomorrow, _she thinks to herself, she dozed off. _When everyone's here. When Chun gets better, when Tron is found, when Felicia and Hsien-Ko come back home…_

She yawns.

…_and when Peter wakes up. Then we'll call everyone else, and then we'll gather everyone in Peter's room, and we'll watch the snow fall._

_Tomorrow… everyone will love it. Tomorrow… hopefully, everything gets better by tomorrow._

**End of Chapter 14**


	16. Lost in Nightmares, Part Two: Dusk

**Turnabout Crossover**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Stark Industries Main Office<strong>_

_**Midtown Manhattan, New York City—December 16, Monday**_

_**Time unknown**_

**She could hear her whispering softly.**

Humming some fleeting tune, a song Ammy could swear she had heard before. It reminded her of vague images and haunting voices of people who… no, she wasn't even certain they were even people—and she especially wasn't certain why she remembers them. She doesn't even know them. They seemed more like ghosts now, from some disjointed, phantom memory of a distant past she swore she knew, but knew as well that she had never even lived through.

The hollow voices called out to her in that whistled song, in a manner of which as if they were desperately trying to make her remember. Whatever it was they wanted her to recall, however, she hadn't the slightest clue

She looked up, awakened by that haunted ballad from the depth of her slumber, only to see _her._

The daughter cosmic who had earlier been in the gaudy purple coat, was hovering over the table, her back turned towards Ammy. She was now silently staring outside the window at a moon as large as the sun.

She wasn't wearing the coat now, though. Instead, she was wearing some kind of armor, though for whatever reason a nigh-invulnerable being who possesses unlimited cosmic powers needed armor for wasn't as apparent as the fact that she was indeed wearing some.

However, how would one go about describing what she wore?

Well, to begin with, the main part of the ensemble was a breastplate worn around her torso like a strapless dress, resulting in an easily observable lack of material protecting her chest—not that she needed protection—and prompting the obvious question of whatever type of miracle was holding it up and keeping it in place. Faulds were connected to her breastplate by the waist, ending just beneath her hips in the manner of a skirt. Raised purple accents seemed to snake around the main armor, seemingly following the contours of her body in some alien pattern.

She wore greaves that covered her shins, which were connected to the cuisses covering her thighs by two poleyn. The tops of her cuisses stopped just an inch and a half below the faulds, while what seemed like light chainmail were worn inside her legwear like stockings. A pair of gauntlets adorned her forearms, while a cloth-like undergarment was worn beneath them, covering the full-length of her arm like opera gloves, ending just half an inch from her shoulder guards. Her shoulder guards, which for some reason were disjointed from her armor, were instead connected to the gorget that wrapped around her neck, which in turn reached just above her collarbones.

The most notable part of her gear, however, was the giant helmet that she wore on her head, seemingly two feet high, and had two bent horn-like attachments sticking out from both sides.

Needless to say, aside from apparent lack of blue or magenta to balance all that purple, her armor emulated her father's almost exactly—it's the exact kind of gear you would expect the daughter of Galactus to wear.

She turned around to find Ammy staring at her, and she smiled at her beholder. She thought Ammy liked her costume change. She couldn't be more wrong. The purple hurts the eyes in ways only the rehabilitation scene from _A Clockwork Orange _could come close to matching.

Either way, she didn't have to know that.

"Familiar, is it not?" she asked the goddess gawking at her gaudy garments.

Ammy nodded. Her hand cupped her chin as she leaned on the table, her eyes doing their best not to shut close as the night began to come and pass.

"'Tis a song I learned while reading in the library," she explained. Then, perhaps suddenly realizing where she was, she felt the need to add: "Not this one. The Celestial Library is what I meant to say. The song is part of the scriptures that detail our ordeal, and it is the only part that is recited as a song. Fitting as it is the most important piece in the entire prophecy."

She then once again began to hum a melody somehow familiar yet otherworldly to Ammy's ears. Then, somewhat wholly unprecedented, Gali broke into a slow song:

x

"_Rdiz lyba rda dagu Juxqahaoa, dez gyja fexxz rda vygrugh zno_

_Ldygjehj verd ihgaxahrehj figo fug rda wargyoyx rdyr vyz quha_

_Da zuijdr ru wgayn dez xeberz rdah, fugjar rda qaaq uf rgizraq fgeahq_

_Fug vdyr byrragaq vyz rda zrugo ru wa ruxq uhla rdao dyq vuh"_

x

"_Yhq zu rda buhzrag rdyr da qgayq verd aoaz wighehj, wuexehj gaq_

_Fylaq deb eh rdyr fugxugh ruvag ywuka rda qgoehj, gurrehj xyhq_

_Verd gazejhaq faaxehj yhq dayko daygr, da nhav rdyr da bizr sxyo dez sygr_

_Ru zxyo rda qabuh uf rda duig yz rda juqz rdabzaxkaz dyka zyeq rdao sxyhhaq"_

x

"_Wir rdez vuixq rgejjag rdaeg vugxq wgaynehj, da'q rdah faax rda qygnhazz rynehj_

_Ukag rda vugxq rdao zuijdr ru zyka akah ef er bayhr rdaeg qayrdz_

_Rda vugxq dyq rdah zsxer eh dyxf, rda Aoa ywuka rdab xar uir y xyijd_

_Yz rda daguaz vdu zuijdr ru wgyka rda qygnhazz qgav rdaeg fehyx wgayrdz"_

x

"_Vdexa uir eh rda rvexejdr ywozz, rda Ypiga-aoa zuijdr ru gakagza yxx rdez_

_Vugxqwgaynagz yhq juq-zxyoagz da vuixq fyla, hu quiwr_

_Ru fixfexx y sgusdalo da vyz ruxq da bizr yllasr rdyr dez daygr duxqz_

_Rda yhzvag ru rdaeg sgyoagz: rda ahqjyba—Fehyx Righywuir"_

x

The words were alien, unpronounceable, in a language no mortal would ever have had the opportunity of hearing before. Hell, if the song had been sung by its original composers, those inhuman beings who spawned the universe, they wouldn't even be audible. And if by some machination of fate one's ears were able to pick up those alien tunes, they most probably would not be able to recognize the sensation as _sound, _let alone as music.

If Amaterasu had known these circumstances at that time, she might not have been able to believe what she was hearing even more. Because for some reason, Ammy found herself understanding the words _perfectly._

"You should not be surprised," spoke Gali. "There was never any doubt in my mind on whether a Celestial goddess such as yourself would be able to listen to and understand the language of beings who caused creation."

Ammy fell silent—or rather, more silent than usual, if such a thing were conceptually possible—and began to think.

Gali chuckled to herself a bit, and turned away.

"Perhaps," answered Gali. "At the moment, a translation for our less privileged allies would be of utmost difficulty. 'Startongue' is—it is a good name for the language, do you not think so? Somewhat poetic… yes, let me call it that—older than creation: to be able to translate it… well, it might be possible for the power cosmic, but it would take some time. A luxury we do not have."

Ammy's eyes shifted as she replied, and she stroked her chin as a sage would.

"I do not believe it possible to explain the contents without reciting the song itself," argued Gali. "Context is important, and even if I were able to utilize an effective transliteration of the song word for word into the Terran language, I would still not be able to explain its meaning as of now."

Ammy stared at her, wondering if she meant that—

"To put it bluntly," spoke Gali earnestly, "yes, I have absolutely no idea yet as to what it means."

Ammy slumped onto her chair, a dreaded feeling of disappointment seemingly overcoming her. She found it annoying how this ordeal, this event raises too many questions and too few answers.

Gali continued to stare outside at the starry night sky, her expression not changing in the slightest. She was thinking, it was evident on her face, but whatever her thoughts were, they carried an air of hopelessness with them. Ammy could see that as clear as day.

A few quiet, blissful moments pass, and the daughter cosmic sat down on the table where only a while earlier she had been floating on top of. She sounded somewhat different when she spoke again.

"I was practicing, you know," she spoke suddenly to a confused Ammy. The air of pride she has had about her seemed to have vanished, and in its place, an air of familiarity. She spoke to the goddess plainly, saying, "I have been reading up on how oracles and seers act in the literature and culture of these mortals. I wished to better play the part that has been given to me, for—as embarrassing as it is for me to say—I know not how. Although apparently, from what I have read, those in my current line of work must act all mysterious and cryptic and be as unhelpful as possible to their charges. Honestly, I do not see the point of that."

Ammy thought for a while. In the end, she shrugged her shoulders, and then took a step back and leapt onto the table, sitting right beside the daughter cosmic.

She was going to humor her for a while, Ammy had thought then.

"Really, now? I should think that I have not been _that _cryptic and unhelpful," cried Gali, shocked. "I mean, I was just about to point out the absurdity of supposed seers being—"

Ammy's ears twitch as she replied.

"R-Really? Well, it wounds me to hear from you that I have already been playing this part _exceptionally_ well," she resigned to exclaiming sarcastically. "After all, I am not the only one who can play this part, seeing as you yourself know more than you let on."

Ammy looked at Gali with a bored expression, and she shrugged her shoulders.

"If you say so. Just like that, is it?"

Ammy nodded.

A full moon hung about outside the large, clerestory-like windows of that dusty library, like a giant, opaque ball of light glowing ever so faintly. Behind it, a backdrop of stars twinkled in their luminescence as a shooting star passed by.

"You feel it as well, do you not?"

Ammy nodded.

"I know what you mean. The whole event is already in motion. Finally."

Ammy yawned, stretching her arms upwards as she does so.

"The final player is already here after all. That Phoenix Wright… do you think that he really is the last key?"

Ammy blinks as she answers.

"No, I did not mean to ask if he is the chronologically last key. There are only three after all. What I meant to ask was whether you think that he truly _is_ a key, who just happens to be chronologically last to get here as far as his appearance goes."

Ammy scratched her nose as she made a retort.

"It is not like I summon them knowing definitely who they are," defended Gali. "It all depends on the scriptures."

Ammy gave a sharp reply.

"Yes, you do have a point. We would not know until he dies, would we? Currently, Peter Parker, or rather his consciousness, is trapped in the Dark Dimension, so technically he still lives. If he should die there, as it is written, then we would know. We still do not know the identity of the second key, but they will reveal themselves soon enough. As for Phoenix Wright, we can only wait for signs of progress. It is out of our control now, after all."

Ammy continuously stared at the night sky outside, mesmerized by a moon as large as the sun. Its light shines over her face, softening the glow of her dark, red eyes, while she can only stay still and fight the urge to howl. She was in the middle of a conversation, after all.

"Yes, you are right. The pieces _are_ all in place. The only thing left to do is to play."

Ammy purred as she bathed in the moonlight. Felicia has had too much influence on her, it seemed. She scratched her ear absentmindedly as she thought of a question.

"The game is already afoot. To answer your question—about how we will play this game—then it is simply a matter of action and reaction, or rather choosing between the two, based on plays made by our opponent. Although, of course, I would always suggest that we take the first move. I weave the web of things to come after all—it would be a waste not to make use of it."

Ammy nudged her ear, making sure Issun was still inside. The tiny Celestial envoy remained sound asleep, unmindful as Ammy moved him from her ear into the right sleeve of her kimono, where it was warmer. She replied to the daughter cosmic almost as an afterthought.

"I-I am not being literal. Is that really how games are usually played? Strange, you seem to have adapted to these Terran customs quite well," responded Gali, "Well, in my defense, I did think of strategies we should be liable to employ. Though I have set up a few—"

Gali stopped abruptly, and her eyes widened in amazement. Ammy turned towards the daughter cosmic, staring at her curiously, unaware of what made her become so quiet. Then her ears suddenly perked up, as she, too, felt the sensation. It was quite hard to describe how it felt, but in trying, one might picture an outsider—a _thought—_unlocking the backdoor of one's mind with a duplicate key, and entering uninvited.

"The… second key," mumbled Gali suddenly in exasperated tones, "the second key… is dead. I-Interesting…"

Ammy's ears twitch as she stared at the young woman giggling to herself. Somewhere out there, someone, _something_ fell into the cold hands of oblivion… traveled to the sunless lands… and the daughter cosmic was laughing about it. There was something inherently wrong with it, and it unnerved Ammy thoroughly.

"Interesting. This is interesting, is it not? Interesting, interesting, interesting," she repeated in maniacal glee. "For it to turn out to be _that _person… I would never have been able to foresee that. This is turning out to be interesting indeed. Very interesting."

She leaned back on the mahogany table beneath her, sporting a smile so sincere it was entirely unbecoming of her to be seen in that state. Ammy was left confused at what could have elicited that sort of reaction.

"You feel it as well, goddess Okāmi Amaterasu, do you not?" she asked her.

Her voice was calm now, almost serene, and the abruptness of how her expressions changed without the slightest provocation was not lost on Ammy.

"The day this universe comes to an end… the day this reality ceases to exist… I can feel it drawing closer and closer ever so slowly," moaned Gali, as she opened her eyes. Her inhuman eyes glowed as another smile creepily crept upon her face. "And I am looking forward to the day this universe catches sight of those sunless lands, every step of the way."

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 15: Lost in Nightmares, Part Two: Death Devours the Dusk<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Raccoon City—December 16, Monday<strong>_

_**12:18 a.m. Eastern Time, approximately fifteen hours and seven minutes before the New York City Outbreak**_

**She was alone. For the first time in months, she was all alone. And she couldn't help but be reminded of how she had suffered as she did now when she first came to this Earth.**

She wasn't a good person, she admitted to herself, but she didn't think she was _evil._ She didn't think of herself as a bad person. She was a pirate—she stole things, true, but she didn't kill people. She didn't want to rule the world, or destroy her enemies, or blow up the moon, or whatever it is the inherently villainous do. She just happened to like taking stuff that wasn't hers as long as they weren't nailed down—and sometimes even if they were nailed down good, but that's not the point. She was a good girl, she was inclined to think, deep down who just happened to love the exhilaration she feels when delving into good old-fashioned piracy. After all, she wasn't _always _involved in heists and plundering, and like any other girl her age she had other activities she was very much indulged in. Like how some days she would be happily tinkering with a machine or two, on other days she'd take time to pal around with her Servbots, and even on some occasions she would be messing around with her… brothers.

Her brothers… they were the only reason she would even work with those monsters. Keeping them alive was the only reason why she endured four entire months of being alone. She kept reminding herself of it, so that she knew there was something worth staying there for. She kept reminding herself of it so that whatever happens, she'd find it in her to strengthen her resolve and keep going—but if she ever found out that Wesker has done something to them … if Wesker ever laid a finger on them… if he should ever hurt them… she would… she would—

There was a loud noise outside the cramped room she was being kept in, like the sound of iron pans banging against each other.

She stood up, and the chains wrapped around her wrists clanged as she did. It was a large and heavy set of chains that were wrapped tightly around her wrists like crude handcuffs, while a more traditional pair on the other hand shackled her ankles.

She hobbled as she walked towards the door. She had broken her right foot that night trying to kick the cuff loose from her left ankle. It was a stupid thing to do—she knew that—but she couldn't stand just sitting there, eyes wide open and waiting to die. And she _knew _that they wanted her dead.

_He's just trying to figure out how to go about it, _she thought to herself as she tried to ignore the pain in her right foot. _How to go about killing me._

But it was still a stupid thing to do. She kept telling herself that as she stood three feet from the door, the pain in her right foot keeping her from going any further. She tried listening in to what was going on outside—that first noise attracted her after all, since it has always been eerily quiet in that facility.

It was a strange place, the Umbrella Research Facility. During those first months she was there, this is what disturbed her most. It lacked people, to begin with.

No, that wouldn't be accurate.

There were people there, of course, and by 'people' one would be inclined to think that the word pertains to the organisms called human beings that populate the planet Earth. And of course, they would be correct in that regard.

At least, Tron _thinks_ they were human. She never really had the time nor luxury of getting a good look. Everyone she met wore these horrible-looking yellow containment suits with black rubber gloves and boots, and each and every one of them had these face-concealing helmets that completely showed nothing but an inhuman façade to the rest of the world. So, when you think about, there was a legitimate doubt about whether they were people.

If you would couple that with the fact that day in and day out they kept doing these horrific experiments in the many labs in the facility which more often than not resulted in the formation of some mutated horror… then like her, you would probably question whether they were people as well, and then it would be a very legitimately real concern.

Well, at least they were _human beings… _probably. At least, biologically speaking, anyway, they were people when one considers the fact that they were members of the species _homo sapiens sapiens_. But if one were to consider whether they were _'people' _people? That's where the line blurs.

They never spoke to her. They never even glance towards her. And with the sadistic sort of glee they seem to find whenever they were pumping stray dogs or bullfrogs or whatever poor creature they could get their hands on full of experimental viruses, turning them into mangy, decaying, ravenous, carnivorous monsters, or whenever they were able to successfully engineer these giant humanoid behemoths with sickle-like claws and exposed hearts, arming them to the teeth to turn them into biological weapons of mass destruction—in the name of science, of course—she was glad they never did. In those days, there was this doubt in Tron Bonne's mind about whether they weren't just monsters masquerading as humans, like Albert Wesker was.

Then again, Wesker doesn't really consider himself human, but that's his loss. And that's not the point.

The thing is that Tron was somewhat glad about the lack of 'human' contact there between her and the A.I.M. and Umbrella scientists. But that didn't mean she wasn't alone.

She saw Jill every now and then during those first months. She didn't know her back then, and back then Jill was still under Wesker's control. So all Tron knew about her was that she was this emotionless robot in this ridiculous purple and black catsuit that followed Wesker everywhere he went, and complied with every order he gave.

If only she had known. If only she had known then, perhaps with Jill's help they could have—

Footsteps. Slow, firm, and heavy. She recognized its distinctive rhythm, and hurriedly, she scrambled to get back to her chair just as the door to her cell opened and a familiar voice called her out.

"How are we feeling tonight, child?"

The man in the lab coat approached her in his usual prideful, patronizing manner. His crimson red eyes glared at her behind his dark sunglasses, and she could feel its piercing gaze like an arrow through her chest. She glared right back at him, returning the favor.

"Does smashing your face against these chains," she spoke in strained voice, "before escaping this place once and for all count as a feeling? You monster, you son of a—"

"Escape?" he replied in hushed tones. "No selfless act of heroism? Like promising to destroy this facility and the 'monsters' and 'aberrations' it houses, or some sort of valorous attempt to try and capture me and place me in some court in order to stand trial for my crimes?"

"Heh. You're mistaken. I'm not a h—"

"You're not a hero," he cut in. "Though, of course, the world isn't defined by petty notions of morality like heroism and villainy, 'good' and 'bad'. There is no clear distinction between black and white, right and wrong. What is actually there is a hierarchy, a separation of power—the strong and the weak, the chaff and the wheat."

He smiles for moment, in the least heartwarmingly way possible.

"But what am I explaining all of this to you for?" he spoke in his usual smugness. "A teenaged girl with delusions of grandeur, whose heart is filled with avarice and desire. A mind like yours would have benefitted the world if you had thought of putting your talent for robotics to good use. But, like you said, you are no 'hero'."

Tron felt the anger she had had pent up for the man in front of her rising.

"If you had done what I had wanted in the first place, then it wouldn't have led to this," he told her, putting a hand on top of her head. "You were never a hero in the first place. Just a greedy, selfish, little girl looking out for herself. You called me a monster—which is far from true—but you're no different from what you perceive me to be."

Tron gritted her teeth. "I am _nothing_ like y—"

His grip on her head tightened suddenly as he leaned towards her, and his mouth was now a mere inch from her ear.

"You're no hero, that much is obvious," he whispered as his breath tickled her ear. "After all, only a monster would think of escaping this place perfectly complacent with the knowledge that she was leaving her brothers behind a _second _time."

Tron's eyes opened wide. Tears welled up in them all of a sudden, and the anger she had been feeling until then subsided. What she now felt was a mixture of regret… and fear for what comes next.

"You and I both know," she half-whispered, facing the floor—trying her best not to lose control over her emotions, "that that isn't possible… not anymore. You and I both know that… they're probably dead right now. Aren't they?"

Wesker's eyes narrowed as a smile appeared on his face.

"I vividly remember their experimentation," he began, "though, of course, the child didn't last long. There has been no strain of the virus that has had a different effect towards younger subjects other than instant death. It's a trait that has been passed down to all evolutionary derivatives from the original Progenitor. The older one, on the other hand, was more successful. His body accepted all mutagens we could test him with without impunity, leading to one of our most successful human test subjects."

Tron felt her chest tighten, and the tears that had been welling up in her eyes had begun to flow down her cheeks.

"We had never had another subject as perfect as he had been, not since Lisa Trevor all those years ago. She's probably still locked up in the caverns beneath Spencer Mansion in the Arklay Mountains," he reminisced, like an old man telling fond tales of glory days past. "The truth is, however, for most her experimentation I wasn't the one doing Lisa Trevor personally—that would be Birkin—and as such I was mostly present to see results, so to be able to partake in the experimentation of your brothers, especially as the older one held the same promise she had, was a wonderful experience. It's a shame I can't remember their names."

Tron raised her head, and she found herself glaring furiously at the grinning man staring down at her. "Their names," she snarled, "are _Bon_ and _Teisel."_

"I'll remember that," he told her. "I had been wondering what to put on the paperwork. I was thinking that something along the lines of 'the traitor Bonne's younger brother' and 'the traitor Bonne's older brother' would have sufficed as subject names."

"You're a _monster,_ Wesker," Tron cried in disgust between gritted teeth. "You're a monster and I promise I will never let you—"

The palm of his hand cut across her left cheek, drawing blood from her mouth. Tron stared at the splash of the crimson liquid flowing from her nose and her mouth as they dripped onto her shackles.

"You should have been dead long ago, child," he told her. "If you had done what I had asked then perhaps it would not have come to this. Of course, your brothers would still be dead—I had no intention of holding up my end of the deal—but you would have at least been alive. Until the time came when I was to put my plans in motion and attain godhood, of course, but until that time you would have been alive. Instead, all you're going to become now is fodder for that brother of yours. Teisel, was it? Yes, Teisel. I believe you're going to keep him full for at least a day, maybe two."

Behind him, the door opened as three of A.I.M. scientists marched inside. Two of them grabbed a distraught Tron by the arms, while the other stood behind her, holding a stun rod against the small of her back.

"Be grateful, Tron Bonne," he told her, as they hauled her out the door, "that I at least had the generosity of reuniting you with your brother for one, last family dinner."

The door then closed behind him, as darkness engulfed the room once more.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Raccoon City—December 16, Monday<strong>_

_**12:18 a.m. Eastern Time, approximately fifteen hours and seven minutes before the New York City Outbreak**_

**Jill searched her room frantically as she prepared for her escape.**

She would have been able to stay patient and keep up the masquerade for a while longer, but the events that transpired were enough to convince her that staying, even for just another week at most, would be the worst course of action she could take.

The demon lord Dormammu appeared all of sudden, supposedly for the purpose of striking some sort of deal with Wesker, and with him came along a young man who physically resembled the demon hunter Dante. With their aid, Wesker was able to retrieve a sample of Peter Parker's blood, for reasons Jill is not aware of. And yet, despite the sinister feeling she had felt crawling up her spine from those events alone, what ultimately made up Jill's mind was a matter even more pressing: Tron Bonne had been captured, and Jill knew exactly what Wesker was planning to do with her.

_He'll take her out, and not in a romantic dinner, first date kind of way, _she thought, and she fought off the unconscious urge to imagine what the 'first date kind of way' might look like, as considering the players it would definitely have been more deplorable for a good number of reasons. _After he finds the most sickeningly cruel way of doing it, he'll take her out._

A pair of guns were laid on top of her desk: a Px4, her sidearm in the B.S.A.A., and her Samurai Edge, her most beloved weapon, the gun she had been carrying since her S.T.A.R.S. days way back when. During those days past after she had been snapped out of Wesker's brainwashing, the realization that she had been wielding that handgun the entire time she was Wesker's lapdog warded off any fears she had about Wesker possibly tampering with her mind. Finding that gun in her holster felt as if a small part of her remained aware of what was transpiring around her, even though she consciously wasn't, and this elated her in those depressing days of loneliness.

Even though she was all alone during those days, at least she had herself.

"At least that's what I tell myself," she spoke aloud. "And having myself for company makes for interesting conversation, like the one I'm having right… this… moment."

She sighed.

She's changed a lot, she'd like to think. Jill has never been particularly conversational. She seldom talked, even to Chris, and she seldom showed emotion even in the face of danger. She was always stoically cool, calm, and collected, preferring to think and rationalize her actions rather than acting on the spur of the moment, as experience has taught her that letting herself be overcome by emotion would cloud her judgment and assessment of a situation.

And because of that, Jill has always been quiet. This stoicism doesn't mean that she cares less about the people around her or the goal of curbing the spread of bioterrorism, which she shares with Chris. But for the most part though, she comes off as cold and aloof towards her comrades, especially if they don't know her outside of combat.

"Yet now, I've developed into this chatty, pale-skinned brunette with a chip on her shoulder," she spoke aloud, as she caressed her Samurai Edge like a mother would do towards her child. "Right, enough about that. Now I need bullets."

As she opened the drawer to her left, her eyes fell towards the trash bin beside her desk, where a black and purple, full body suit was stashed haphazardly, seemingly in disgust. To Jill's disbelief, she can't quite fathom how she was able to survive wearing that uniform for the past nine months or so.

"It's hot, it's uncomfortable, it isn't flexible at all, there isn't any room to carry stuff in, the boots have heels for no practical reason, and it's too tight—hell, I couldn't even zip it all the way up," she remarked. "Why did I have to wear it?"

She brushed those thoughts aside as she snatched a couple of magazines from her desk drawer and packed them in her tactical vest. In an hour or so, she wouldn't have to worry about those trivialities anymore.

_After I rescue Tron, I'll meet up with Chris in the city, and then the three of us will take a car and drive straight to New York to regroup with everyone else, _she thought, buckling her belt and holstering her guns. _The information I've gathered should be enough ammunition against Umbrella's plans. With the schematics and blueprints to Wesker's pet project, 'Project: Eyes Without a Face' in Stark's hands, as soon as he's able to decrypt the file and decipher the contents, we win this fight._

After making sure her boots were laced tight, and her knife was strapped to her right thigh, she took the blue baseball cap sitting prettily on top of her bed and replaced it with a small duffel bag. She scanned the contents of the bag quickly: her phone, a radio, a tablet computer, a couple of data drives, three flash grenades, an incendiary grenade, and more than enough acid rounds in case she picks up a grenade launcher in the mess of things. Because you can never be too sure.

_I've thought everything through. There's no possible way we can lose. Just no way._

Jill smiled, thinking that she was prepared for the worst.

_I probably should leave these for now, _she figured, after lifting the duffel bag and finding it quite heavy. _I have to move fast if I want to get Tron during the change in patrol shifts later. I can always come back for these with no one the wiser._

Satisfied, she put on her cap and started toward the door. As soon as she grasped the handle, however, there was knock.

Jill stood still and stayed silent, trying to figure out who it could be. After another knock or two, a voice called out from outside.

"Uh, m-mistress?" called out the voice. "It's Alice. Do you have a minute?"

It was one of her assistants, and one of two people who signed up for the A.I.M. internship at Umbrella without any idea about what that meant. The other one was—

"Maybe she isn't there?" another voice whispered, and Jill couldn't help but think, _Speak of the devil._

"She's there, Bob," Alice whispered back. "She's always there at this time of night."

"How would you know about that?" asked Bob.

"I always see her go inside her room during dinnertime when I head towards the lunchroom," came the response.

"So?" went the skeptical retort. "And you actually eat dinner here?"

"And I never once see her go out. You can see the hallway to the dorms from the lunchroom, and I've never once seen her cross it during this time of night. Ergo, she couldn't be anywhere else but her room—"

—_which isn't exactly right, _thought Jill, _since I'm probably crawling through the improbably roomy and sturdy ventilation shafts above the hallways on my way towards the central data banks in order to hack the Umbrella project files at this time of night—_

"—and what do you mean 'And you actually eat dinner here?'"

"I mean the food here is bland, unappetizing, and are probably made from leftovers from yesterday's food which is still probably made from the leftovers from the day before."

"Well, sorry if I can't afford to buy anything to cook, on account of relying on my university stipend for cash."

"What? Oh God, sorry. You should have told me. I didn't know you had money troubles."

"And now you do. So just drop it."

"Look, I'm really sorry. But, you know, if you had money problems, I would have been glad to lend you so—"

"No. No way. This is why I didn't tell you. I don't want anyone acting like I'm some sort of damsel in distress in need of white knighting. I am perfectly capable of solving my problems on my own."

"What? Where the hell did that come from? You're the only friend I have in this place. If I'm offering to help you, it's because I genuinely want to help you, not because I—"

The door opened, and the two of them then turned to the blue-eyed woman with one hand on her hip, wearing a baseball cap, a black tactical vest over a cadet blue dress shirt, black slacks, and army green combat boots.

"What do you need?" asked Jill, acting like how she thinks her cold and calculating brainwashed self would have been like.

They both stared at the woman by the door.

"…Mistress?" they both exclaimed in unison.

"Yes?"

"You look… different," remarked Alice.

Jill sighed. _Of course I look different, _she thought, wishing that they wouldn't have noticed. _Dyed my hair brown again after it's been bleached, took off the fake plaga Stark attached to my chest for the purpose of keeping the masquerade, wearing a more sensible outfit for fighting than what I usually wear… yeah, I'm pretty sure I look very different to them._

"Forget it," she told them, still trying to invoke the usual stoic and emotionless demeanor she had during her brainwashing and, until just recently, her Umbrella-infiltration days. "What is it you want?"

"Oh, uh," mumbled Bob, as he took out what looked like paperwork from inside his coat jacket, and showed it to Jill. "We were… uh, we were planning on taking a leave from work. No, actually I mean, uh, we were—"

"—we're quitting," Alice said more decisively. "This isn't the job we signed up for. I thought we were doing good working for a pharmaceutical company—I mean, this is a pharmaceutical company, right? I thought we were helping make breakthroughs in more affordable medicine, or discovering a cure for cancer, or something like that. But all that time we spent here, we saw nothing of the sort. Like, hell, we've been working like thugs for the past couple of months: stealing research, taking people hostage, fighting superheroes—I mean, we've been fighting _superheroes. Actual __**superheroes.**_I don't know why it took us this long to realize we were bad guys! I'm a scientist—interning as one, at least—and this isn't, like, how I pictured my first year working for a research company was going to be. Seriously, I don't know why it took us this long to decide—"

"What she means," Robert cut in, "is that we're resigning because our views of what we should be doing clash with what the company has actually been having us do."

"Hey!" shouted the other. "I'm not finished yet."

"You are now."

"Am not."

"Are, too."

"Am not."

"Are, too."

"Am not."

"Are, t—"

"Either you let me finish or I'll—"

Her voice trailed off as they heard Jill giggling to the side, prompting them both to stare at her with their mouths agape in disbelief.

"She's… laughing?" whispered one to the other, as they both turned their backs toward her. They then began talking between themselves.

"She _never _laughs," came the reply. "Oh God, what if—"

"Keep it easy, Bob," Alice whispered back. She then pulled him by the sleeve as they both faced Jill once more, with her asking, "So, uh, we were wondering if you could give us any advice—any advice at all— that would help us decide?"

Jill smiled as she heard what they said, leading them both to huddle between themselves again, with one whispering to the other, "Is she _smiling?_ She _never _smiles."

"All right," began Jill, and the two looked at her, eagerly awaiting her answer, despite being frightened by the apparent 180 degree change in personality she was having. "If you want advice, then I'll give you advice: _leave. _Now. As quickly and as quietly as you can."

"Huh?"

"You're right," continued Jill. "Umbrella is _not _what it seems, and tonight something big is about to go down, so if you'd rather not get caught up in the crossfire, you better get going. Don't bother leaving a letter of resignation."

Jill then began to walk down the hall, leaving the two by the door to her room. It was the best she can do to save them. Telling them anything more would just put them within Wesker's sights if he finds out they knew anything, needlessly involving them in her fight. On the other hand, to Jill, not telling them anything would mean letting them stay in the death factory that is the Umbrella Corporation, fully knowing that it could easily mean death for them, something she could have prevented.

Jill was having none of that. She was lucky, though, that they've been having their own hunches all along all this time. It made things a lot easier.

"Wait," they called out to her. "M-Mistress, wait."

She stopped walking several feet away.

"Don't call me that," she told them. She always cringed whenever any one of the A.I.M. goons called her that. It was like Wesker was trying to rub off his own delusions of godhood onto his "puppet". She can't believe she was able to put up with it for so long, being called something so pretentious. "Call me Jill. Jill Valentine."

"Jill, huh," spoke Alice, as if in practice. "Jill. Jill Valentine. Jill?"

"Yes?" asked Jill, eagerly. Hearing her name—her real name—being spoken again was like music to her ears.

"So, uh, Jill," mumbled Alice. It's like she couldn't get used to it. "Jill, was it?"

"Yes, my name is Jill," she told her.

"Jill, huh? Jill," she repeated once more, unsure. After getting used to calling her 'Mistress' like some otherworldly queen, slightly out of respect for her authority and mostly out of fear that she looked like she could snap her neck if she ever _didn't _call her that, her disbelief was understandable. "Jill. Jill Valen—"

"What my friend here is trying to ask about," cut in Robert, as the whole thing began to look ridiculous, "is how we're supposed to get out of here."

Jill looked thoughtful for a moment. "Front door's not a good idea, I suppose."

"You think?" asked Bob, before realizing that that little snide remark might have almost cost him his life. And if this were the brainwashed Jill, he'd be right.

Jill's hand then dove into one of her vest's pockets, producing what looked like a memory card, and then tossed it into the air.

"What's this for?" asked Robert upon catching it.

"It's a disruptor," answered Jill.

"Disruptor?" mimicked Alice.

"Insert the card into your smartphone," explained Jill, "and a program will immediately install itself. Use that program to hack into the control box that keeps the fire escape at the end of the dorms locked."

"I'm not really good with computers," said Robert, "and neither is she."

"You don't really need to do anything," continued Jill. "Just point your phone at the control box and the program will remotely mess with the internal data flow, disrupting its security protocols. Hence, disruptor."

"That's amazing," they spoke in unison.

"Expect nothing less from the master of unlocking," she boasted, although she wasn't entirely sure why she was channeling Barry with that particular statement.

And with that, she ran off in a confident sprint, leaving the two former A.I.M. scientists while complacent in the thought that she had at least been able to save two lives that night as she made her way towards saving one more. In high hopes, Jill believed she would be able to save Tron Bonne as well.

_Wait for me Tronnie, _she kept repeating to herself. _Just wait for me._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Raccoon City—December 16, Monday<strong>_

_**12:18 a.m. Eastern Time, approximately fifteen hours and seven minutes before the New York City Outbreak**_

**The nicest thing about nightmares is that most of the time, they're only in your head. They exist deep inside your noggin, scaring you only in the depth of your dreams, frightening you only when you sleep. When you awake, when you open your eyes—they're gone. That's the nice thing about nightmares: they're almost always never real.**

The keyword would be 'almost'.

Because sometimes… when you're really, unimaginably unlucky, your nightmares turn out to be real. Of course, even still, most nightmares are terrifically mundane: losing your job, getting robbed, being stalked, failing a class, getting kidnapped by a mass-murdering psychopath, going to school naked—all are horrible things that could befall someone, but as far as things go, they're mundane. Mostly because they're possible. Within the realm of the existence we know to be 'reality', they're possible.

But reality isn't the same to everyone. Sometimes one's reality is to another a fantasy. A horrible, horrible fantasy that couldn't possibly real, and yet it is.

Chris Redfield lives in that sort of reality. The kinds of nightmares he dreams of could very possibly turn even the sanest man alive to lunacy. Of course, anyone can make a claim that their nightmare—since, you know, everyone's nightmares are a reflection of what they fear most—is the most fearsome, terrifying nightmare anyone could possibly have. And they could very well be right.

But what sets Chris' nightmares apart from all the others is that his nightmares exist outside of his head. His nightmares are his reality—every moaning, howling, flesh-eating part of it.

And they were amassing just a hundred feet from where he and Rocket were hiding, far enough for them not get noticed and gored, close enough for them to notice every gory detail.

"I don't get it," Chris whispered under his breath. "This can't be possible. They can't possibly be able to organize themselves like this."

"_Take it easy, Redfield," _radioed Rocket. He was stationed at the top of tree Chris was hiding behind, keeping watch of the horde. _"Let's sweat out all these crumby details later. We still need to find that wanker HUNK before he alerts Wesker, after all."_

He trains his night vision-equipped binoculars from the horde towards the direction of the Spencer Mansion, higher up on the mountain.

"_The mansion is in sight," _reported Rocket. _"It's some three hundred to three hundred feet from here, so about the length of a football field. We could probably sprint there once the tail end of the horde passes, if we're to remain hidden from sight. Though, should we really get through the front door?"_

There was no response. Rocket then shifted his sight from the mansion to the front end of the horde.

"_Should we try and waste them?" _asked Rocket. _"There're a couple of dozens of them, and the firepower we're packing might not be enough, but we might at least be able to thin out their numbers before, you know…"_

He hears Chris swear under his breath.

"…No. We should get going," responded Chris. He took a deep breath and he picked up the S75 sniper rifle Rocket had given him beforehand as it leaned on the trunk of the tree. "Every second we stay here, we risk HUNK contacting Umbrella and informing Wesker of our movements."

Rocket dropped down beside him, carrying a SIG 556 in his hands, while the Bear Commander was strapped securely on his back.

"I know why you're pissed off," said Rocket. "They're heading for the city, and for all we know history—well, history as _you_ know it might repeat itself. So, your call: do we keep moving towards the mansion, or do we cull the horde here, nipping the bud before it blooms? Your call, mate."

Chris sighs, and shakes his head.

As he opened his mouth to answer, an explosion goes off, rocking the mountainside. Far into the darkness, they could see the flames brush against the sky as dozens of monstrosities pour out of the wreckage: zombies, dogs, and Hunters began scurrying like cockroaches out of the fire and began heading down the mountain, and coincidentally towards the two of them.

There are nightmares. Then there's reality. Then there are times when nightmares cross over to reality.

One could say Chris Redfield's life was entirely built around that concept. He's thankful though, as thanks to it he just narrowly avoided choosing between completing his mission and saving his hometown. With the mansion now resembling a smoldering gate to Hell where unknown horrors are pouring out of, like his nightmares and his reality, the line that separates completing his mission and saving his hometown has blurred completely.

As Rocket camps behind a boulder situated a several feet in front, Chris dropped down on the roots of tree he was standing against, using the trunk to protect his left flank as he sets up his S75 to provide Rocket some cover. He sighs as he does so, in the irritated manner of a driver being forced to stop as the light turns red.

"Here we go again," came the thought in his head, as he downed one zombie with a killing blow though _its _head. "Welcome to my world."

**End of Chapter 15**


	17. Lost in Nightmares, Part Three: Dawn

**Turnabout Crossover**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Spencer Mansion<strong>_

_**Arklay Mountains just outside Raccoon City—December 16, Sunday**_

_**Time unknown**_

**He underestimated them. The enemy. HUNK knew that, and he wasn't one to refuse to acknowledge his mistakes for the sake of something as trivial as pride. He underestimated what Redfield was capable of, and because of that he failed his mission, and was seriously injured in the process. **

He underestimated Chris Redfield's grasp of the situation in Raccoon City. He believed that the relative lack of activity regarding Umbrella in the months since he came would have caused Redfield to lower his guard. HUNK believed that by consequence, Redfield would have relayed that same sentiment to his allies in New York, informing them that there was nothing that required immediate attention in Raccoon City.

HUNK had planned everything down to the smallest detail. Most important of these plans was that he had jammed communications only on the week Wesker's scheme was to be put in motion in order not to catch Redfield's attention, and that he kept constant surveillance on Redfield to identify his schedule and his patterns—ultimately realizing that he was most vulnerable at night when he wrote at the desk by the window of his room.

HUNK even worked the riots in front of Umbrella at daytime to his advantage: if he were to snipe Redfield as he sat by the window, the sound of the gunshot would be enough to wake an entire neighborhood. After all, there was no way to silence a gun of that caliber. But to shoot him at pointblank range with a silenced pistol—the sound would be muffled enough that if anyone should hear it, the listener would assume that it came from where the daytime riots occurred—in front of the Main Umbrella Corporations Office, quite a ways from the neighborhood.

_Probably some protester wanting to start trouble,_ the listener is most assumed to think.

He didn't factor in, however, Redfield being able to dodge at pointblank.

And that's when the entirety of his plan crumbled for two reasons. First, Redfield's sister and second target, Claire, somehow knocked him down after she herself was able to dodge a bullet he fired. Second, the addition of an entirely new party—who may or might not have been sent by Stark—resulted in the deaths of the entire team he brought with him as backup in case something went awry. It was actually something of a miracle that HUNK made the bloody trip back to Spencer Mansion.

All of this, he explained to a bewildered Vector, as the stealth expert of the Wolfpack dragged him into one of the studies in the mansion where the rest of team waited. Vector was his protégé and most promising student, his right hand—if this admission of failure was told to him by anyone else but HUNK himself, he would have shot the blasphemer on sight for even trying to tell him _lies _about how HUNK had his ass handed to him.

"If that is the case, then the plan has been compromised," spoke Lupo, assault expert and unequivocal leader of the Wolfpack, as soon as Vector finished explaining HUNK's story to the rest of the team. "All we can do now is commence with the second phase of the plan and release the B.O.W.s."

"Negative," retorted HUNK, as he leaned back on a chair at one end of the room. Bertha, the team's medic—or at the very least, the one on the team who administers medical aid, despite or in spite of her rather harsh and painful way of going about it—knelt beside him, tending to his wounds in a way only she can. Rather painfully and sadistically.

In fairness to HUNK, the pain doesn't even register. He's been through worse. Considering the kind of humiliating hell he had gone through that night, the previous sentence was not an exaggeration—it was mere fact.

"What do you mean, 'negative'?" questioned Four-Eyes, the resident field scientist operative. "Orders are to release the Spencer Mansion B.O.W.s as soon as you come ba—"

"Don't talk back to him," blurted out Beltway, the demolitions expert, as he pulled Four-Eyes by the arm. As soon as he was certain they were not in earshot, he leaned towards her and began whispering, "Only an idiot would argue with HUNK."

"His reputation precedes him," dismissed Four-Eyes, and she wrestled her arm out of his grasp. Turning to HUNK once more, she asked, "What do you propose we do? Ignore our directive?"

"No," responded HUNK. "Release the B.O.W.s but continue phase one of the mission. We must eliminate prime priority target Chris Redfield, and secondary priority targets Police Chief Leon Kennedy, civilian Claire Redfield-Kennedy, and civilian Sherry Birkin, as per Wesker's orders."

"If we go out now, there's no telling how long it would take before we complete this phase of the mission and return here to release the B.O.W.s," argued Lupo. "Worst-case scenario is that phase three has already begun by the time we come back here."

"Then we release the B.O.W.s first before commencing once more with phase one," responded HUNK.

All of a sudden, everyone became quiet. They all stared at HUNK disbelievingly, as if he had spoken something unimaginably impossible.

It was a while before one of them spoke again. It was Lupo.

"Suicide mission aside," she began, "if we release the B.O.W.s and the city descends into chaos, even if we accomplish phase one of the mission, we would get left behind once phase three commences."

"If we get left behind," spoke HUNK, "then we get left behind."

"You're kidding," mouthed off Beltway, seemingly ignoring his previous advice. "We're not so loyal to Umbrella that we would be willing to die for it."

"You have your orders," spoke HUNK half-menacingly. "I suggest you follow them."

It was a suicide mission if there ever was one. Except for perhaps Vector, none of them harbor any particular feelings of loyalty towards Umbrella, and even Vector is only loyal towards the company as far as HUNK is. They especially lost all belief in Umbrella when Albert Wesker first relayed the plan they were directed to carry out some days earlier.

It involved killing four individuals within Raccoon City: the R.P.D. Chief Leon Kennedy, his wife Claire, William Birkin's daughter Sherry, and Claire's brother Chris Redfield. Afterwards, they were instructed to release the B.O.W.s that have been kept within Spencer Mansion onto the city in order to instigate a viral outbreak. Once they were through, they were to return to Umbrella in order to participate in the third phase of the plan, something they aren't even privy to.

Their main issue with the plan was, firstly, how nonsensical it was to them. through their perspective, Wesker ordered them to kill four people who seemed for all intents and purposes inconsequential in the larger scheme of things—it was as if Albert Wesker only wanted it done out of some petty grudge or spite. Then, secondly, he wanted them to release Umbrella's experimental B.O.W.s into the city—hundreds of millions of dollars in viral research and development gone in an instant onto a small industrial town out in the mountains.

Last but not the least, they didn't even know _why_ they needed to do this. The benefits weren't apparent. It was as if Albert Wesker was just a sadistic mass-murderer who wanted to see a town burn for no particular reason than because he can.

They narrowly avoided doing the first phase of the plan when HUNK presented himself to Wesker, telling him that he'd rather do the job on his own, and the Wolfpack was relegated to releasing the B.O.W.s. But now that HUNK failed, not only are they being ordered to take up the first phase once more, but they are now to do so while the city is being swarmed with monsters and mutated horrors.

Lupo, being their Wolf Mother, didn't particularly like the idea of them risking their lives for a nonexistent cause working for a company they don't care a whole deal about. As soon as she was about to speak her mind, however, something remarkable happened.

Out of one side of the study, some dark-colored, vapor-like substance started swirling in midair out of practically nowhere, like out of some science-fiction novel. It glowed an eerie purple hue, as it began to grow larger. Beyond seeing a 'mass of lavender _something_ hovering above the ground', they found it hard to describe it. It seemingly swirled clockwise at first, then counterclockwise, then both at the same time… somehow, and while the borders emanated that purple glow, the middle was much harder to describe. Because there was no middle section. What existed was… actually, perhaps nothing actually existed there. It was as if the concept of space didn't mean anything there, and if one thinks about it, they wouldn't have even been able to see a middle part because the middle part didn't technically exist.

And from that swirling mass of contradictions a figure emerged slowly in a calculating manner, taking small steps and appearing fully only as soon as the entirety of the Wolfpack were able to draw out their firearms and aim it at the figure that they at least were capable of comprehending to be human. Or at least he _looked _human.

"Guns," muttered Vergil, as he began to draw Yamato from its scabbard. "Such dishonorable things. It would do you filthy humans good if I simply went about slicing them all into scrap metal before you can even half-attempt to blink."

The Wolfpack don't really respond to banter. They have a 'shoot first, brutally interrogate later if target is still somehow alive' policy that they adhere to strictly. Before they were able to open fire, however, HUNK stopped them.

"Hold your fire," he cried, and the Wolfpack lowered their guns slightly. _Slightly. _HUNK approached the young man with the snow white hair and icy blue eyes, and asked him, "Vergil, is it?"

"That is who I am," answered Vergil, coldly. "I presume you are the one they refer to as 'Human Unit Never Killed', or HUNK?"

"Affirmative," came the reply.

The Wolfpack lowered their arms all the way as this exchange took place.

"Who is this guy?" questioned Vector. He eyed Vergil from head-to-toe.

"Our liaison," spoke HUNK briefly. "Before I set out earlier, I was informed at the last minute that we'll receive additional assistance should I fail with the first phase of the plan. He's under orders to make our job easier now that we're running out of time."

"Easier?" mimicked Lupo almost absentmindedly. Like the rest of her team, she was now staring in awe of the portal that had opened in front of them. "What is going on? How is this pretty boy supposed to help us?"

Vergil smirked disturbingly, and all of them, bar HUNK—maybe—felt unnerved by the strength of the killing intent seemingly emanating from out of the white-haired man in front of them.

"You'd be surprised, human," he said simply, and he walked back into the purple void he emerged from as they followed.

As they found themselves swallowed up by that darkness, it slowly grew smaller as they left the empty room behind them.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 16: Lost in Nightmares, Part Three: Dawn Might Be Too Far Away<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Raccoon City—December 16, Monday<strong>_

_**12:25 a.m. Eastern Time, exactly fifteen hours before the New York City Outbreak**_

**They threw her in there, with her arms shackled and her right foot broken.**

There were no lights wherever she was, and try as she did she couldn't get her eyes to adjust to the darkness. It was simply too overwhelming. Walking forward, she felt a dampness beneath her feet, and a foul smell began to fill her nostrils.

She knew what it could be. She knew what could have caused that stench, and she swore to God that she didn't want to be right. As she tried to get her mind off of that smell, she thought she heard something in the distance. A quiet, gnawing sound, like the sound of… teeth crunching bone. She took a step back in fear, and the rusty shackles she was confined there with rustled loudly. Whatever it was that was making that sound suddenly stopped. Something then scurried just beyond the blackness, and as her eyes struggled to make something out of the pitch darkness around her, something seemed to be… moving towards her.

She leaned against the wall behind her, and felt for a way out. What she found were pair of large, steel doors, and they were locked.

She took a deep breath, and began to walk forward ever so slowly, somewhat daring whatever it was that was hiding in the darkness to approach her. She wasn't afraid anymore, she'd told herself. Whatever it was that was going to get her—whatever it was that Teisel had turned into—it was going to get her eventually. She had no way of fighting back. Failure was inevitable.

And if she was going to die anyway, then the least she could do was die fighting.

Just then, something brushed past her, like a snake, and all of a sudden she found it wrapping around her legs. She fell hard on her back as whatever appendage it was began pulling and dragging her across the room. She felt herself gag as she was coated in whatever foul grime it was that was spread all over the floor.

The lights began to flicker on and off, and as her eyes got over the overwhelming brightness of the first few flickers, she began to get a glimpse of the thing that was going to devour her. It was a towering, pale-colored monster with an exposed heart and skin seemingly perpetually covered in slime. It had large blank eyes, and sported a wide gaping mouth filled with sharp, jagged teeth. It had huge, sickle-like claws on its hands feet, and a large mass of writhing tentacles were sticking out of its back. It was a long, pink tongue that had been pulling her by the legs, and as she found herself dangling upside-down in front of the behemoth, she noted how it didn't look like her brother in any way.

"And I'm thankful for that," she muttered under her breath as the blood rushed to her head. "If you looked the slightest bit like him, monster, I would be bawling like a baby right now."

The monster snarled at her, and a sickeningly disgusting stench emanated from its mouth.

"Dammit, Teisel. Jeez," she cried, as she tried to cover her mouth. The chains, however, were too heavy to lift up, so her arms stayed dangled below her head. "Aw man, close mouth, grit your teeth, please. This isn't how I imagine my death to be like."

As the monster continued to growl at her, bombarding her with its breath, she loaded p a big ball of saliva up in her throat and spat in the beast's eye. The monster reeled back its head in surprise.

"Are you listening to me, Teisel?" she shouted. "I said 'Grit your teeth.' I don't want your breath to be the last thing on my mind before I—"

The monster began trashing her about like a rag doll, before finally throwing her across the room. She slammed hard onto the wall with enough force to crack it.

As she pulled herself up, spitting out the blood forming in her mouth, she whispered, "So that's how it's going to be, is it?"

Beside her, a cow with its ribs sticking out and its entrails strewn all over its corpse lied motionless on the floor. As its blood and guts continued to spill across the tiles, it was only then that Tron noticed that she had been covered with its grime.

_This could have been worse, _she noted mentally. The monster then began to charge at her, and quickly, she grabbed one of the ribs sticking out of the dead slab of meat on the floor and snapped part of it off, just as the monster grabbed her and pinned her against the wall.

The monster began growling at her once more, and its foul breath began drowning her again in its stench, as it pulled her towards its mouth.

"I thought I told you," she cried angrily, as she reeled her head back. "Grit. Your. Teeth."

She then smashed her forehead against the monster's face, squarely between its eyes. The monster staggered backwards, loosening its grip around her. Not letting up, Tron swung the rib she had snapped off upwards, and using the chains around her arms to add weight to her attack, she aimed for its heart. However, the monster swayed forward, and she missed her target entirely, driving the piece of bone into the monster's eye instead. The monster tossed her aside as it howled in pain.

Tron lied back in the pool of blood, and began panting heavily.

_Oh God, I missed. That sucks. That really sucks, _she thought. _That's it. That's all I had. It's over._

Staring down the monster in front of her, now blinded in one eye and slowly walking towards her, she couldn't help but smile in vain.

"Just do it, Teisel," she told the monster. "I don't think… I have that long to live, anyway. Not anymore."

The monster then picked her up by the chains, and raised her to eye level.

She smiled. "Let's just get this over with. Huh, bro?"

She stared straight into the monster's one good eye as it opened its mouth, trying to see if she could find her brother in there somewhere. If there was even a fraction of him that still existed. Yet, there was nothing in his eyes anymore. Nothing human remained in that chassis. All she saw was a blank stare that looked at her with uncaring indifference. And that blank stare shifted its gaze towards something behind her.

The monster suddenly let go of her, and as she chanced to look up, she found a knife buried deep into the one of the monster's clawed hands. Before the monster could make another move, a lithe figure swiftly drove a heel into its chest, knocking it backwards. In one, quick move, she grabbed her knife and began stabbing the monster's heart over and over and over as the monster struggled in vain.

Before Tron lost consciousness, she saw the brown-haired woman stand up and rush to her side. She looked up and saw the woman's deep, blue eyes look at her, mouthing "Thank God" repeatedly as she was lifted up in the woman's arms.

"Tron," Jill spoke softly, as she lifted the little girl up with her blood-soaked hands. "You're safe now. Thank God, you're safe now. We're getting you ho…"

Tron closed her eyes and dozed off before she could hear the rest.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Raccoon City—December 16, Monday<strong>_

_**12:32 a.m. Eastern Time, approximately fourteen hours and fifty-three minutes before the New York City Outbreak**_

**If you happened to walk by the eastern end of Raccoon City at night, you're liable to find yourself staring at the majestically beautiful Arklay Mountains towering over you like a silent guardian, watching over the slumbering city at its foot. Ever since the small industrial town that was erected by those mountains found its economy thriving through the investment of the Umbrella Corporation, the lush environment surrounding it was turned into popular camping and hiking grounds for its growing populace, and eventually for the tourists who've come to have heard of these sleepy giants.**

For years the Arklay Mountains were the stuff of natural wonder and excitement—an ever present testament to the beauty of the environment and nature. Its lush, verdant flora and wondrously variable fauna have been the pride and joy of the citizens of Raccoon City. It is said that after an exhausting hiking trip, once you've set up camp and lied down on your back staring at the vast night sky, the sounds of nature coming from all around you were enough to make you forget all of your troubles as you doze off into a night of peaceful slumber.

But tonight was not that that kind of night.

"We're running low, Redfield."

If you happened to walk by the eastern end of Raccoon City that night, you're liable to find yourself hearing gunfire from the mountains towering over you which, at that moments, were like haunting specters of horrible things to come.

Several dozen corpses piled up some ten feet from them as several dozen other monstrosities continued to shamble towards them, moaning in their unholy guttural voices. As six more of the dead and two more Hunters fall, Rocket's Bear Commander clicks, and he tosses it onto the ground.

"Well, _I'm _all out," he declares, irritated. He looks at the several dozen dead by their feet, and at the horde that approached them still. "I'm not sure we've accomplished much."

"We were able to draw the main group's attention away from the city. I'd say that's a pretty good accomplishment," argued Chris, as he unloads three perfect headshots onto a leaping Hunter and two zombies. The H&K P8 he looted from HUNK clicked emptily soon after. "I'm all out now, too."

Rocket weighed their options. They could probably kill a dozen or so in close quarters, but with their numbers they could easily flank the two of them and overwhelm them. Running away wasn't an option, as the only place to run to would be the city, and the reason they stayed fighting in the first place was to avoid letting the horde get there in the first place.

While backed against a tree, he sighed. "Well, this isn't how I pictured my death. I thought I'd die doing something badass, like stabbing a knife into Thanos' eye or something."

"Implying this thing we're doing isn't badass," joked Chris, as he handed Rocket one of his combat knives. "I can think of worse ways to die."

"Yeah, I guess," conceded Rocket, as he balanced the knife in his hand. "But still, I could've died fighting Thanos or Annihilus in order to save the bloody universe, or something like, I don't know, blowing up a neutron star to save a galaxy or something."

A zombie dog charged at him, and in one, swift motion, Rocket carves into its head like a Halloween pumpkin.

"Instead, I'm going to die as zombie chow," he concluded. "Even if this isn't _the _worst death anyone could have, in my opinion, it's still _one_ of the worst deaths."

"Whether it's saving the universe, a galaxy, or a small town, it doesn't matter," argued Chris, as he stabs his knife into a zombie's forehead and tosses the corpse aside. "What matters is that you willingly gave your life for them, no matter how small or big whatever you saved was."

"Heh. You sound like a goddamn superhero," chuckled Rocket.

"Do I, now?" asked Chris. "They're getting closer now."

"If this is the end for us, then it's up to those blokes in New York to figure out what happened here and stop it from happening everywhere else," said Rocket. "We should take more of these wankers down with us before we die, though."

"I bet I can kill more than you can."

"Are you a betting man, Redfield?"

"Not really, no," answered Chris. "But is it too late to start?"

"Don't think so," replied Rocket. "It's not like you'll win, anyway."

"I'll take that as a challenge," said Chris. "Loser buys drinks on the other side."

"Deal," agreed Rocket. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Chris."

"Same here, Rocket. Same here," whispered Chris. "Now, let's finish this."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Raccoon City—December 16, Monday<strong>_

_**1:05 a.m. Eastern Time, approximately fourteen hours and twenty minutes before the New York City Outbreak**_

"**Leave me, Jill," she demanded weakly. "I'll only slow you—"**

"No, you aren't, Tron," came the assured reply. "You aren't slowing me down, so don't say that. Besides, it's a pretty cliché thing to say."

"Yeah, I… guess it is," she agreed, laughing softly.

They traversed through those dark, unnatural-looking corridors as they made their way back to the dormitories. Long, thick pipes hung above them throughout the doorless and windowless hallway, while attached by the floor were small, ruby red lights that blinked repeatedly, showering the unlit corridors with a low, red flash every one to two seconds. Tron clung as tightly as she could to Jill, as Jill carried her on her back.

"The guys back home will probably be mad if they heard me say something that cliché," she said afterwards, as Jill opened a large hatch at the end of the hall and began climbing down the ladder inside it.

"Hey, if you don't tell them anything about it, I won't either," said Jill.

"Thanks. I'd like that," said Tron, appreciatively. The low, monotonous siren of an alarm rumbled somewhere from deeper inside the building. A warm feeling suddenly permeated from her forehead, as she bled onto her bandages. "I lost a lot of… blood, didn't I… Jill?"

"Yeah, you did," confirmed Jill. They were halfway down the ladder. "That's why we need to get of here and get you to a hospital. Raccoon City General won't be too far away once we escape. So try your best to stay awake, okay?"

At the end of the ladder, they found themselves on the catwalks above the main laboratories. The laboratories seemed flooded with some sickly green fluid that oozed from the life pods stationed throughout it, now all broken and empty. Dead bodies of A.I.M. scientists littered the place, causing an overwhelming stench to fill the room. Some of the corpses were not even intact anymore, and the trail of blood and entrails they formed led out of the now sealed metal doors of the place.

"What… happened here?" asked Tron.

"Wesker happened," answered Jill. "After his research had completed, he was planning to destroy the facility and kill all the A.I.M. scientists working in it. The alarm we've been hearing is due to the self-destruct mechanism activating."

"Self-destruct, huh?" remarked Tron. "I have one at home."

"Of that I have no doubt," remarked Jill.

Several pained screams echoed throughout the facility, as Jill and Tron traversed the catwalks, trying to ignore them.

"I don't really care for those A.I.M. jerks, but… no one deserves this," whispered Tron.

At the end of the walkways, a large ventilation shaft was pried open. Its cover laid haphazardly to the side. Bent outward at the middle, it looked like it had been ripped off by the bolts.

Jill squatted down and dropped Tron gently by the shaft.

"We'll have to crawl through this vent from here to get to my room," instructed Jill. "I'll go first, so I can catch you when you get to the end. There's a sharp drop that leads to my room, you see. Can you do this, Tron?"

"Are you kidding me?" spoke Tron, grinning. "I should be able… to do at least this much."

After opening a flashlight, Jill crawled into the vent first and Tron followed soon after.

"Haa… haa…"

"You alright, Tronnie?" asked Jill. They have been traversing the vent for three minutes by then.

"Looks like… ha, I'm more worn out than I'd like to believe," admitted Tron. "I might have lost a _lot_ more blood… ha, than I thought."

"We're almost at the end," said Jill. "So just do your best to not pass out, okay?"

"Don't worry, Jill. I can do this… ha, okay. I can do this."

It was quiet in those vents. Only Tron's occasionally labored breaths broke the silence, at which Jill would prompt them to stop for a while for the young mechanic to get her bearings, and then they'd continue again. The vents were large enough for someone of Tron's stature to be able to sit upright, so anyone of average height and build and who wasn't claustrophobic wouldn't have any trouble going through them.

It's just that if you were going through them for the first time without any idea about how long they ran for, you'd get the impression that they'd go on _forever._

And that you were trapped there, crawling endlessly for the rest of your life. It was hard not to think in those terms, especially since after telling Tron that they were almost at the end, she and Jill continued to crawl for more than five minutes afterwards. And they still weren't quite there yet.

"Thanks… for saving me back there, Jill," said Tron, sometime after.

"No need to thank me," replied Jill. "Really… don't. I don't… deserve it."

They took a right as they reached one of those rotary fans that seem to exist as part of every ventilation shaft.

"That monster… he used to be my brother."

"Yes, I… I know."

"Did you know before today?" asked Tron.

"No, I didn't… I didn't," answered Jill, tearfully. "I'm sorry, Tronnie. I should have… I should have known. If only I could have done something. Wesker had been talking about a new test subject for some time before, but I never realized who he was—I was never able to put together the pieces until Wesker sent you to that room. I'm sorry, Tron. So very—"

"It's not… your fault," spoke Tron, weakly. "So don't blame yourself. The only one to blame here… is Wesker. And he'll get his… even if I die doing it, I'll make him…"

Her voice trailed off as consciousness began to leave her. She could barely hear Jill calling her name before all her senses came halting to a stop.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Raccoon City—December 16, Monday<strong>_

_**1:27 a.m. Eastern Time, approximately thirteen hours and fifty-eight minutes before the New York City Outbreak**_

**It wasn't easy, but somehow Jill managed to drag Tron throughout those vents until they finally reached her room. If those vents hadn't been so ridiculously large, it might have taken the two of them hours to crawl through them, and by then they would have been dead. She was lucky those vents were that large—she had no idea how an incredibly blatant design flaw like that managed to escape Wesker's notice. **

Considering, however, Wesker's opinion of himself as an untouchable god, the reason for it might have been more obvious than Jill will ever realize: Wesker might not even have _considered_ it a flaw, seeing as the facility was of his design. And he could _never_ make mistakes. Mistakes are something a lowly human makes, and he was a god.

As Jill jumped down the sheer drop from the vent to her bathroom, the pirate mechanic in her arms began to wake up.

"Are we… there yet?" asked Tron.

"Tron!" cried Jill, joyfully. "You scared me. And yes, we're here."

Jill carried her towards the door, and began nudging it open.

"I'll just need to get my stuff, then we can—"

The door creaked slowly, swinging inwards.

"—get out of… Oh God."

"Where?" spoke the sinister-looking man in the black sunglasses. "Oh, you were addressing _me. _Glad to see you've finally to come to understand and accept what I really am, Jill."

"Wesker…" whispered Tron and Jill in unison.

"In the flesh," spoke the man. A large grin began to form on his face.

"How did you…?" snarled Jill between gritted teeth. "You son of a bitch, get out of here this instant. Or so help me, I will—"

"I don't believe you're in any position to _threaten _me, Jill," taunted Wesker. "You're no threat to me on your own. So, how could you possibly believe you're a threat to me carrying a _liability_ with you? That poor, insignificant, little girl couldn't save her brothers. And now she'll be the cause of _your_ death."

Wesker shook his head mockingly.

"If you had only thought of yourself, and had not decided to continue playing these buffoonish heroics—trying to save that broken child—you might have lived, Jill," declared Wesker in a reprimanding tone. "And now you're stuck here in this facility, as the self-destruct sequence counts down to oblivion without any chance of you saving yourself."

_It's true, _thought Tron. _Jill could have escaped on her own. She shouldn't have tried and saved me._

_I've lost too much blood. I don't have long to live. Even when she told me that we could get to a hospital in time… even when she told me that I'd survive this… the truth is, I won't. I'm a woman of science, after all. I may be a mechanical engineer, but I know enough about the biological sciences that I've lost more blood than someone of my age, height, and stature should be able to live without._

_It's a miracle I'm still breathing and thinking right now. But whatever the reason is that I'm still flicking into consciousness every now and then, the fact of the matter is… had Jill saved me or not from my brother-turned-monster, I'd still die, either way._

_She shouldn't have saved me. She should've just escaped on her own. And now… we're both… going to…_

"One moment, Wesker," declared Jill.

Jill looked down at the young mechanic in her arms, whose eyes were ready to burst, and smiled.

"That's not true, Tron," she told her softly, as Jill carried her to her bed. "You're not just some liability. You're not some poor girl that I shouldn't have risked my life saving. You're a wonderful, young woman who has her whole life ahead of her, and I'm not just about to leave you here with that life unfulfilled."

"Jill, you can't be…" whispered Tron. "Think about… what you're doing… what you're saying. Try hesitating for once and you'll realize… that what you're saying is—"

"Tronnie, why should I hesitate?" asked Jill, as she laid Tron on her bed.

"Because… because if you do, you'll be able to… think about this," whispered Tron, barely choking down her tears. "You'll be to see that… that you should have… left m—"

"There's nothing to think about, Tron," stated Jill, plainly. "Saving you… there was nothing for me to think about it. It was the right thing to do. It was what I _wanted_ to do. And if I'm doing what I want—if I'm doing the right thing, then why should I hesitate?"

She kissed Tron on the forehead.

"Sit tight. I'll be back for you."

Jill turned back and faced Wesker, once more.

"Are you quite done?" questioned Wesker, with a bored look on his face.

"How long have you known?" asked Jill, while ignoring his question.

"About you having turned back to normal?" he asked rhetorically. "I've known for quite some time. No matter how composed your acting was, you simply cannot duplicate every aspect of you mind-controlled self to achieve perfect mimicry. There are simply just some variables you cannot manipulate. Like your heartbeat, for example."

"No way," cried Jill. "Dr. Pym and Dr. Banner synthesized drugs that would allow me to dampen my—"

"And yet your heartbeats still make microfluctuations at one one-thousandth of a second that simply do not happen in your brainwashed, doll-like state," explained Wesker. "If you had senses as acute as mine, and access to Doom's sonic scanners, you would have realized it."

Jill's hands began to shake visibly her fists closed tighter.

"So does this mean that all the information I've acquired—"

"I wouldn't say that all your efforts were a total loss," spoke Wesker. "You've acquired _some_ useful data, but the thing is… my schemes are on a much grander scale than you could ever imagine. All that data could not equal the entirety of my plans, and are therefore of no consequence to me."

"Project: Eyes Without a Face?"

"Discarded blueprints I've put up as bait, and encrypted using a roundabout code that would ultimately reveal gibberish once decoded," answered Wesker. "After all, with all I've done, as a virologist why would I suddenly take an interest in cloning?"

"I wouldn't know," replied Jill. "The minds of the insane have always been quite a mystery to me. You could just be engaged in outsourcing for all I care."

"Ah. The jokes and wit," remarked Wesker. "Something you picked up from those so-called 'heroes', I presume? You were always a picture a cold stoicism, Jill. I'm finding it hard to accept this sudden personality change."

"Save it, Wesker," cried Jill, as she took up a fighting stance. "What happens now? You're going to try to fight and kill me as you explain your master plan and stroke your ego?"

"Explain my master plan?" asked Wesker. "Do you believe me to be some sort of comic book supervillain? Do you actually think that the time I have left before this facility explodes will spent by me engaging in a fistfight with you? No, you think too little of me, Jill. Much too little."

At that moment, the concrete floor broke open, and an arm grabbed onto Jill's leg, pulling her downwards. She was able to grab hold of the edge of the hole she fell into before she was pulled down entirely. To the side, Tron could only scream her name as she struggled to push herself up.

Jill took a good look at the monster on the floor below her.

"Teisel… Bonne?" spoke Jill. Tron's eyes opened wide as she heard her brother's name. "How… I killed—"

"How conceited can you be to believe you could kill a Tyrant with your bare hands?" asked Wesker, as he placed one foot over Jill's fingers. "Especially one that has been infected and mutated with my most powerful Progenitor strand yet—the C-Arachne virus."

Tron could only watch as Wesker stomped on Jill's fingers, forcing her to let go of her grip and fall to the floor below. The leather-clad man then walked towards her slowly with a sadistic grin on his face.

"Your savior has fallen to her soon to be imminent death, and soon enough you will be following her to that fate," declared Wesker.

"Are you going to kill me now?" asked Tron, her voice seething hatred through gnashed teeth.

"Kill you?" mocked Wesker. "Ridiculous."

He turned his back towards her and began heading for the door.

"From where I'm standing, you're already dead."

**End of Chapter 16**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's notes:<strong>__Hey! Took too long, I know. But rest assured, I ain't stopping until this story's been told. And to help me with that, I ask politely that you guys leave any sort of comment or criticism. Any sort helps me better my writing, you can count on that._

_By the way, just in case you don't know yet (and who hasn't heard of it by now, I mean it's been like, what, half a day?), Spidey's rights are back with MARVEL. Okay, so Sony's still financing, distributing, and has creative control, but honestly, as if that matters. Marvel Studios will still be the one holding the reins and telling Sony what to do with Spidey, and Sony will just have to do what they say especially after they dun goofed the franchise one too many times. All in all, Spidey wins. Best news I've heard all week. _


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